


Stalker

by KarinaxRose



Category: 1984 - George Orwell, American Horror Story, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Inglourious Basterds (2009), Original Work, Warm Bodies - All Media Types, what I've written has been compared to those fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Dystopia, Gen, Humor, Love Triangles, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Romantic Friendship, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarinaxRose/pseuds/KarinaxRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Big Brother is watching and he may be looking into things a bit. It's the height of The Great War and not a single citizen in The Sector goes unseen. Each is assigned a watcher to monitor their every move. Oliver Cowan is The Sectors top People Watcher, assigned to the most troublesome citizens. He's given Amy Young, who's previous four watchers have vanished. But this does not frighten him, what's scary is the new and protective feelings he's grown for Amy and her family. But when you're a favorite among The Sector, Oliver soon learns there's a lot you can get away with as well as a lot that's been hidden from you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

  

We open in the black ether. Day fades out as night enters through the windows into the entirely empty home. It’s void of all comforts, filled only with fear, and haunted by echoes. The only sounds echoing through the home is the slight buzz made when the cameras adjust angles in the corners to follow the older woman and her three young grandchildren that she adopted as her own as they make panicked, anxious strides back and forth. That, and their hushed tones. Though they speak silently, nothing goes unheard.

“Have the dogs gone out?” Ask the oldest granddaughter. It’s code. She’s asking if they were followed home.

Cut to the grandmother. With red eyes and no smile, she shakes her head, “No. I’ve been busy.” Her hand is by her side, holding one finger out. It’s code. She’s saying yes. She was followed by one. This is pathetic.

This is amature level.

This is all about to be over.

The youngest in the room is five years old. His name is Zach and he’s committed a crime. But then again, so has everyone in the room just by existing. Zach asks, “Is it my fault, Grandma?”

She looks up into the corner of the house, “It’s never our fault.” She’s wrong. It is always their fault. They are born with no other purpose than to commit crimes. That is what makes them Expendable.

A knock echoes through the home. Cut to the plywood door. The chilling air stands still just briefly before the breeze of the inevitable future blows in carrying the promises of death. The grandchildren huddle close and their grandmother keeps a watchful eye on them. She signals them to stand in a straight line. Shoulders back. Chins up. Try to look Worthy. But they will never be.

“Yes?” The Grandmother asks toward the door, keeping an eye on the children.

“Octavia Wallace?” Asks a voice off screen.

She turns to the door, “Yes?”

“This is Exec. Cop 283, Mark Staffer.”

The floor boards wheeze and weaken as Octavia walks to open the door with no other questions. The children do not move. Mark strides in, not wasting a moment waiting to be invited. His all black suit and his tall black boots aid in blending him into the night beyond the door, the dark world from which he came. Octavia closes the door and stands beside it, watching him as he looks the children up and down. “Well?” He asks, not passing Octavia a glance. “I should be introduced, shouldn’t I?”

Octavia shuffles over with her shaking old woman legs. “Yes, of course. The eldest is named Sara. Then it’s Avery and Zach.”

Sara manages to say, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Staffer.”

He beams a wide smile full of deceit and distrust, “Au chaunte, young lady. Quite the manners you have. And do you speak for your brothers as well? Or do they have the courage to speak what’s on their minds?”

Octavia laughs lightly, “Oh sir, surely children have less of a filter than adults. But they never speak what’s on their minds.”

Mark motions for them to have a seat on the floor. The children accept. Octavia does not. He motions again. She listens. It takes her a while longer, her body not nearly as able as the children, but she eventually gets seated, not a moment of the spectacle is unseen by Mark Staffer as he eyes her.

But he doesn’t need to watch her that closely; there are eyes all over this home.

Perhaps he just enjoys himself and his job too much, Exec. Cops are presumptuous, that way. They take the presence of fear as an acknowledgment of power. Mark reaches into his utility belt and pulls out a small touch pad. He begins to scroll through a list on the screen as he speaks, “Oh, Octavia Wallace. You should never discourage children to speak what’s on their minds. The Sector needs good thinkers and good speakers, we don’t discourage people to speak their minds. We want everyone, at all times to say exactly what they are thinking. Isn’t that right Zach?”

Zach looks away from his grandmother and right to Mark. “Is what right, sir?”

Mark keeps his eyes on his list, “You like to speak your mind. I admire that. We like knowing what you’re thinking at all times. So why don’t you say again, what you said to your teacher this morning.”

“I don’t remember what I said.” Zach’s expression shows immediate signs of deception: Darting eyes, wavering voice, playing with his hands. He is lying.

Mark puts one hand on his hip and begins to pace up and down the line the family has so elegantly made when they sat on the ground. The perfect line they formed in height order trying so desperately to appear Worthy despite their tattered clothing, lack of education, location of their home, and the telltale sign that is the barcodes permanently etched onto their wrists; a label that reads of a fate most foul when read by someone like Mark Staffer. They are hardly human, much less Worthy. Their only purpose is to commit crimes, hold us back, hinder our ability to rise. They are the reason for all problems and why we are struggling to overcome them. As soon as they are gone and dealt with, we will move on. We will be at the top. Expendables like them do not deserve our pity, but our enforcement.

Mark Staffer, Worthy, reads from his touch pad, “This morning you said to your teacher, ‘My grandma is really smart. She says that The Great War is going to end soon because when my mommy and daddy got found out and killed in the sky, she figured out why and now she’s going to help show people that they weren’t being bad, They were trying to help.’ Zachary Wallace Citizen number 568-N3-349-X, age five, seven-thirty-three AM.” He looks at Zach. Zach does not look at him. Mark says to the child, “Is this what you said?”

Zach hesitates, he wants to come clean. That’s the thing about Expendables, they try too hard to be Worthy in the definitional sense that their conscious is hard to disobey. And when they do we lay in wait to purge. Finally poor, sobbing, pathetic Zach says a quivering and unconvincing, “No?”

Mark Staffer taps his boot to the beat of the anticipating hearts, pumping fear with each tap of his toe and accompanying pulse of their oversized Expandable hearts, “Well, The Sector made this report. And the reports do not lie.” He looks to Octavia whose head is hanging down, “Octavia Wallace...”’ He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “You had a lovely home. What happened?”

“This is a country home...” She murmurs.

Mark tilts his head, “No. It’s an off-grid home. Country is being a tad bit covert. Code even.” It one hundred and ten percent is code, Expendables tend to bend the truth and sugar coat things like that. This is sweet.

This is hilarious.

This is going to be the death of them.

“We don’t speak in code,” she lies, “They’re far too young to grasp code.”

Mark smiles, “I see. So this decision to take the kids on a holiday outside of the outer areas of Tacoma are in no way in relation to the documents you were spotted attempting to smuggle, copy on to wood, and then sell at the market not but a few miles east.” Thirty eight miles, if you want to be exact about it, “And those actions you made in no way were in relation to what your grandson Zach here, said about you telling people how your son and daughter-in-law, rebels of The Sector, were trying to help?” Octavia says skittishly nothing. “Here’s how this all worked.” Mark Staffer explains, “We heard Zach talk, and we transferred the message to People Watchers. You, Octavia, I’m surprised you got as far as you did. Your watcher was already on to you from the moment he was assigned to you after the execution of your grandchildren’s parents. They say your watcher the best in The Sector and I believe it. He caught on to your plan when you were building this off-grid country home, then he ordered cameras installed, he cracked your code, he made Written Reports of you transcribing those documents onto lumber. He found the coordinates to the secret market you sold the lumber at and assigned a Life Maker to buy the wood from you in lieu of the real customer you were supposed to meet. That person you thought you were meeting is now dead, by the way. As is everyone at the market.” He laughs with his head rolling back and forth, “Market... What a good front for rebels selling secret information.”

Sara sobs. Expendables are fragile emotional people; it’s perhaps one of the biggest flaws of their kind. Civilization can achieve much more without the emotional ties types like Expendables make to inconsequential things such as family, friends, camaraderie; The unions that lead to rebellion. Partnerships and emotions toward people are signs of rebellion, because people don’t like to take things on alone. People are flawed, that way. This is strange.

This is foreign.

This is complex and hard to explain. So it needs to be stopped.

“Oh... Sara. It’s okay.” Mark Staffer consoles quite insincerely, “Remember when I said we like people speaking their minds? Rebels speak their minds, always. Not always vocally or in an obvious fashion, but they get their message out some way or another. That’s where we come in. They speak their minds and we blow their brains out.” He stands still; the beat of his footsteps echoing through the empty home vanishes and leaves a haunting new echo existing only in the minds of those listening. This is tense.

This is frightening.

This is finally getting somewhere.

The beat returns as he steps to the door. “You’re...” Says Octavia. “You’re going to let us live?”

He opens the door and says to them with his eyes forward toward the night, “Yes I am.” Octavia sighs and wipes tears from her eyes. Mark finishes as he steps outside, leaving the door open, “But your watchers won’t.” There is a brief moment in which the hopeful glow once in the room, entering with Mark Staffer’s departure, lingers, trying so hard to remain. But hope these days knows better than to stick around, lest it sees those who once held it so dear, shun their vulnerability, and stupidity to once do so. This is what happens to Octavia Wallace. Her eyes go dull. Her face turns still. Before she all at once, breaks down. Octavia begins to wail and huddle the children into her as her hope dies moments before she does, and leaves her to die alone. The children’s watchers are faster. Their switches get flipped and their bodies begin slumping into their weeping grandmother. This is where I come in.

This is where I am different.

This is why I need a promotion.

I am different with Octavia Wallace. I am different with all my citizens. I think that’s why they say I’m the best. I take my time and adjust my angle on the camera in the upper corner of the off-grid home, centering my citizen Octavia Wallace in the center of my screen, and I flip my switch. I like my angle: Looking right down on Octavia, I know she feels small, so I like to let that show through the camera work. I like this angle best, I’m particular to things like aesthetics, in this sense. I find that exacting new ways to see the same thing, in a sense, brings an essence of visual diversity to the tedious work day. I am different, that way. It makes my job and my existence tolerable, visually captivating moments like this in which the angles and the lights are just right. In which, what I see is more than visual, it has a life of its own, which is more than I can say for myself.

Octavia screams, it echoes in my ears and the image on my screen cuts to black. Moments later, superimposed mid-screen appears the words:

New Citizen Acquired: #798-B2-334-TW Amy Young F.

**  
  
**

 

 

I should get out more. There are multiple times a day where I want to choke my own bleak existence with my bare hands just so it can have some cool story to tell someone. But I don’t even talk to anyone. So what would be the point? What even is my point? Where am I even going with this? Oh yeah...

My existence’s sole purpose is to merely just be there. That’s all I do. I just exist. I don’t live. I’m not a living thing, I'm just this existing pain in the ass. I have a life in the way that fungus has a life. I have a story the way a compact disk has a story. Purpose the way all purpose glue does, juice the way 100% juice has juice; its all in the label. I'm in the business of providing meaning to an empty label. Meaning where it is bred merely because it was told. And enforcing punishment when it fails to do as it is told. And I used to be okay with that.

I don’t have a life other than my job. I’ve worked more overtime this week than I’ve been in the sunlight in the last year. I’m thoroughly convinced that when I die, I will haunt my cubicle, gaze lifelessly at my monitors, and count the infinite minutes of eternity. My afterlife is a promotion with no pay raise. In death, my work hours will be perpetual. I have no life, so I figured what’s to say that will change when I die? And I used to be okay with that.

I hope my life is ephemeral. But I fear my existence will be eternal. And worst of all, I fear that I will be here forever and not do a single goddamned thing. And I used to actually be okay with that.

But it’s times like this, when I see life happening around me that I want to try to be alive. I mean, I think I’m a human perfectly capable of having life and maybe even a life worth living or full of adventure. It is my existence that keeps getting in the way, because my existence has no other purpose than for me to just “be there”.  That is what I have always known. But now I am not so sure.

That is why now I feel like maybe there is something I am missing. Something that, if I can attain it, will make an eternity of nothing worth something. Something worth living for and something worth dying for. If my ephemeral life can be lived, maybe my eternal existence can be endured.

I’ve never lived other than vicariously through what I see on computer monitors. But now, the life I’m seeing, I fear... no wait, hope. I hope my life will be more than vicarious fantasies.

Oh no... Hope. What an unfortunate side effect of certain death hope is. I guess I am dying. I think I’ve always been okay with that though. But I would like to live, at least a little first. And if I live some sort of life, I want it to be like hers.

Wow, her room is really cool. I don’t know how she manages to keep all those things on her dresser that neat—what with the constant bombings and all—and how long did it take her to collect all those posters? She likes David Bowie. I like David Bowie. And she likes Devo too. I can get into Devo. I haven’t heard of some of those other people she has up there, but I can do research later. God, she’s actually really beautiful. Good thing I have no other plans, I could go overtime and watch this all night. She’s putting music on...

Hmm, it’s nice. She’s got such great taste. Wow, it’s like I’m right there with her. It’s like we’re hanging out. It’s like our first date almost. Except, I’m behind a computer screen watching her from multiple angles from video cameras installed in the northwest corner of her room, her laptop and her mirror. Other than that, it’s like we’re right there next to each other on her tiny twin bed, enjoying this music, not speaking but just relaxing in the idea of company. Finally, we’re both not alone.

I can almost feel the ruffle of the comforter on her bed, the embroidery of small red and yellow flowers on my palms. I can tell how long it’s been on her bed for by how soft it is and how worn it is in the corners from being dragged around her house when she was a little girl. Her house, the address to which is: 2352 Greenwich Avenue Tacoma Washington 98401. The house is a two story four bedroom home with 3.5 baths, additional garage, with a large tool shed in the backyard beside a rusted swing set purchased in 1994 from a neighborhood garage sale. The house itself is blue, but fading; hasn’t been repainted in sixteen years... much like everything in its area, it’s gone to complete shit.

But her room is still nice. You could hardly believe the world around it was crumbling into nothingness. It has so much life. More life than I have ever seen and I have seen a lot of people’s lives in my years. I’m 21, or 22. You know what, I might be older than that now. Time is kind of irrelevant to me. All I know is that I’m going to die soon.

She’s 20.

She was born July 23, at 1:17 PM on a Thursday at Mission Royal Hospital. Her parents are Diane and Peter Young. Her mom has dark brown hair and light blue eyes. She’s got a lot of freckles but most of them developed with age. Her father, though more recently has gone grey, was for most of his years blond with green eyes, fair skinned. She has two older brothers named Jim and Peter Jr. sometimes called PJ. She had an older sister but she got into some trouble and was sentenced to death years ago. Her name was Sylvia.

Her name is Amy Marie Young. She’s got long dirty blond hair and brown eyes. She’s 5’9 and weighs 135 pounds. She went to Foss High School, Vista Valley Junior High, Clark Walters Elementary School and attended a Pre-K program at Tacoma Day-School. She was typically a B average student but excelled in science and world history. She took honors Anatomy, Psychology, English and Spanish but dropped the Spanish her senior year. She played golf and I can see four golf trophies on her shelves now but I know she has five more hidden in a box in her closet.

That’s all I know. But give me a break, it’s my first day.

I already know I like her. This is a first for me, and I’ve been doing this since I was 16. If I hadn’t dropped out of school when I was 15, maybe we would have gone to high school together. Maybe we would be friends in Honors Anatomy or just have lockers near each other. Maybe we would both talk about liking David Bowie and maybe she would ask if I liked Devo. I’d lie and say yes just to get her to keep talking to me. Maybe after a few years we would start dating and I’d take her to prom and we’d apply to the same colleges and we’d get an apartment. Then we would maybe see other people for a while. But we would miss each other, perhaps not at first but we would. Then fate one day would bring us together again and we would start all over all fresh and we’d have a whole new perspective and appreciation for each other and fall in love all over again. But for right now, she’s on my computer screen in real time and I’m watching her listen to music. I’m pretending I’m right there next to her—

Hey, where’s she going? She’s looking up... oh God. She’s looking right at me. What do I do? Act natural. Stay calm. Smile. Wait... what the hell am I doing? She can’t see me. But she’s looking at me, I feel like she can see me right now. She can see my black hair and my blue eyes and pale skin from being inside all freaking day. She can see my ugly black work shirt being shrouded ever so crudely in my blue hoodie. She can see the coffee on my desk from the cheap shop. It’s not even the good stuff. She can see the post-it notes on my cubicle walls and my headset that I have on my head.

I really need to calm down, I mean Amy Young doesn't even know I exist... she knows of my existence but she doesn’t know it’s me:

Oliver Cowan, PW #522347593016138 Assigned to Citizen #798-B2-334-TW, AKA Amy Young.

 

She’s getting up. She’s turned off her music. She’s looking. Right. At. Me. Shit.

“I know you’re there.” She says, looking directly at me—or rather, the camera. “Are you having fun? Sitting up there in your ivory tower?” I look around at the endless rows of cubicles and the plaster walls. The flat carpets cough dust when you walk across it. Half the toilets don’t flush anymore. And some assholes still piss in them anyway. It’s not an ivory tower that’s for sure. It’s more of an asbestos sanatorium for the feeble. Or a hospice for the socially impaired. Hopefully it will crumble of old age and die, taking all inside, myself included, with it to that big watch tower in the sky.

She crosses her arms, “I bet you’re laughing with all your fat cat buddies watching Citizen’s Live, eating caviar, and showing pictures of your Pomeranians wearing cat costumes from Halloween, right?” I look at the empty bag of Chips Ahoy, and my post-it notes. It's definitely not caviar and puppies. “People are dying. And I hope you know that. But who am I kidding, you people know everything. And you don’t care. You just watch us eat, sleep, shower, talk, and fuck right?”

Oh my God... I get to watch her shower.

“Well, I’m turning off my lights, and I’m going to listen to music, and you’ll have Jackie fucking Chan to report to Dictator—excuse me—President Sumner. Goodnight.” She’s shut off her lights, but not before giving me... or the camera, rather, two middle fingers. I can see her nails are painted black, chipping and I can see the two barcodes tattooed on both sides of both her wrists she’s had and has touched up regularly as per Presidency mandate, since she was two years of age. Then, it’s complete darkness and silence until I hear Devo.

I blink at the dark screen and sigh, “Holy shit.”

**  
  
**

1

EXECUTIVES

It’s been pretty normal since I was born. But then again, normal is pretty relative to the observer. I am an observer of the weird, which makes my weird the norm. Life is normal. But that’s just life as I know it. President Sumner was elected five years before I was born so not many people my age remember life before The Sector.

I work for The Sector as a People Watcher, I have since I was fifteen. They came, knocked on my door one day and told my dad they had work for me. He was always a loyal party supporter and so he was more than excited to see me off. He is so proud of me that he hasn’t tried to contact me once since I left. Heck, I don’t even know what he looks like anymore! I’ve been doing that well.

There’s a lot of jobs within The Sector as civil-servants and most are given to people who come from Toler-Worthy families at age fifteen and we work here... until we die, really. It’s a nice thing, job security.

Some people come in as Executives and they work directly for the Presidency. They walk on each floor of every official Sector building that’s stationed in each town; they run the meetings and keep things in shape.

There’s Life Makers and they have great jobs. They’re the ones who control the water, electricity, the auto industry etcetera, etcetera. They start the floods and cause the blackouts and car accidents. They run how people’s days go and when they need something to happen they make it happen. They don’t watch as closely as People Watchers do but when the Executives mandate that say... Sally Fischer’s Subaru Outback needs to get a flat tire at noon, they make it happen and Sally’s watcher files a report that confirms that yes indeed Sally’s car has got a flat and then Dan O’Brien’s watcher confirms that Dan did in fact help get Sally’s car off the road, so on and so forth.

There are the Spinners. They make sure The Sector keeps their reputation up. Some people don’t think we do such a good job, some people think we need to shut down altogether. And I don’t really have an opinion. You would be surprised how neutral The Sector civil-servants are. The Spinners read everything written and if it’s something negative or counteractive they get rid of it. They also eliminate all things written before the time of The Sector. They desolate the libraries, burn the books, wipe the internet. They make people who talk too much go away, or so that they can't speak any longer. They make things quiet, peace is nice. They take care of everything in word form. This goes even for the current newspapers and television news shows to the notes people pass in class. As a People Watcher I have to make a Written Report which means something was written and I take a screenshot of it and send it away to a Spinner upstairs. This was difficult when I was watching students and one time a teacher.

The way People Watchers operate is simple: All citizens have a barcode on the top and bottom of each wrist that can be read through walls thick as lead. Each time one of these bar codes pass a video camera (which is always) the camera scans the barcode and displays the image onto the computer screen of their assigned People Watcher. At times I’ve had more than five of my computer monitors light up with my assigned citizen from over five different angles. If the citizen we are watching does something wrong, we report it. Suspicious? Report it. Illegal? Report it. And if they enter Dead Space, which means they haven’t been scanned and aren’t showing up on any of our monitors we’re left with the following options:

If your citizen is labeled as “Expendable” you can hit the kill switch. At that point it’s up to Executive level and they handle it. You’re assigned a fresh new citizen.

If your citizen is labeled, “Toler-Worthy” you can either flip the kill switch or the blind switch. The blind switch automatically raises them to be labeled “Though Proof” and with the Thought Proof label there’s a lot less paper work. People labeled Thought Proof are typically better behaved and praised as model citizens. Thought Proof people all tend to hang out together, dress similar (usually in Presidency Colors: red, white, and gold) and all together are easier to watch.

If your citizen is labeled “Worthy” and they enter Dead Space you aren’t required to flip any switch if they’re in Dead Space for less than four hours.

I’ve never had a Worthy citizen, there’s not many in my area where I’m stationed in Tacoma. I’ve had to flip the kill switch three times and the blind switch once.

My first citizen I watched was 2 years old and I watched him until I had to flip the kill switch. My next citizen was 68 and Thought Proof and I saw her die naturally. And then I got a 17 year old and flipped the blind switch a year later. She got murdered by some kids a few years after. And then I had a teacher aged 32 and had to flip the kill switch. After that was Octavia Wallace aged 61, she got the kill switch. Then I got Amy.

You wonder, when you don’t get a fresh citizen who is two years old, what happened to their previous watcher? You hope they got promoted, but... that’s not usually the case. Somehow, Amy’s old watcher died and now I’ve got her. And I don’t know why but I really hope I never get any Dead Space.

“Oliver...” The voice comes from just over my right shoulder where behind me is my co-worker and fellow People Watcher Gordon Shapiro.

“Yeah?”

“Is your citizen idle?”

It’s six AM. Which is a joy of having a younger citizen, they tend to be idle longer. My 17 year old sometimes would be idle until noon on the weekends. When your citizen is idle you can typically go home. But you have to turn your mobile on, which is worn around our wrists and has a tiny screen, always displaying our citizen and when they wake up and are no longer idle, the mobile alarm goes off and we’re back to work. I got here while my citizen, Amy, was still asleep. After last night, our first night together, I didn’t want to miss getting to know her better.

“Yeah, they’re idle. Why?” I tell him without turning my head around, never taking my eyes off the screens. There’s nine of them. Four are new flat screen HD shiny motherfuckers. Touch screen, fast processor, a fancy jingle when you turn it on, the works. The rest are dinosaur eggs as fat and rickety as you can imagine. When you turn them on a floppy disk spits out, the fan sounds like an engine and a robot says “Welcome”. The bottom left one has to get smacked around every now and then to display properly. Which reminds me, I’ve got to talk to someone in IT about that.

I write a reminder on a sticky note as Gordon asks, “Can you come check this out please?”

I’m not confused by Gordon’s request. He’s new, 18. I get up from my spiny desk chair and walk two short steps to his side of the cubicle. I lean over his left shoulder and look at the one illuminated screen. It’s dark but we can clearly see his citizen: Aged 29, Tassia Greene. She has short black hair and red lips, her eyes are also red and black makeup is dripping from them. But I look away from her eyes and focus on her wrist, mainly at her barcode.

She’s in what could be her kitchen, and probably is. There’s scraps and crumbs of old rotting food unfit for anyone other than her kind. It’s the stuff people throw out. The leftover crap no one wants. Garbage. Waste. You are what you eat. Everything in this room may as well be its own disgusting counterpart.

The clothing may as well be blood soaked rags.

The walls may as well be old rusted jail cell bars.

The windows, television screens looping the same public execution it’s been airing all week.

The air, thick choking clouds of toxic poison gas.

The carpets may as well be urinal cake.

And Tassia, well, Tassia may as well be a corpse, the disgusting counterpart of what we all are and will be. But Tassia is an Expendable so she already is a disgusting counterpart of a Worthy citizen.

She’s going at the barcodes on her wrist with a knife, blood everywhere, digging deep into her skin. I’m shocked. I’ve never seen this before. It’s rare I see anything I haven’t handled before. She’s trying to remove the barcode. I don’t know why. She can’t grow back all that skin, what is she doing? And if she does grow back new skin, she’s just going to have to get a new tattoo. Oh gosh... she’s crying so much now. Jesus, this is awful. She’s almost done. This is barbaric. I grimace as I watch in horror, shock and a tad bit of awe. I’m speechless. It’s not often someone who has watched as much as I have, sees something new and entertaining.

It’s funny how we can turn our heads away from the things that make us sick to our stomachs. And then look right back.

It’s funny what we pretend we aren’t accustomed to.

Tassia is taking deep panicked breaths as she moves the knife further along the outer edges of the barcode. She tips the knife so it goes under the skin to peel it off, and with a scream she just rips the rest and throws it. As it leaves her hand a new monitor glows on, just zeroing in on the flap of tattooed skin as it lands in the view of a new camera.

“Ahk, God!” Murmurs Gordon as the camera focuses on it. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes. Not so much am I averse to the gore as I am the simple insanity. Sometimes people go through such pathetically lame acts of bogus heroism to free themselves from The Sector’s watch or kill Executives or even Sumner himself, and I wonder why even bother? Rebellion is nothing but a cheap date with death. You’re just dancing around what you're ultimately looking for, right? Death. So why go through the hassle? Why tear your skin off and cry? Why try to develop code and disguise your actions? Just wait. Wait and it will all be over.

As I open both my eyes again I see Tassia, still bleeding, still crying, going for the second barcode. It’s now that I start to enter my more professional work mode. The mode I’m known for, why everyone stops by to ask me for advice. Why I was chosen for this job and why I'll be here until I die. “Gordon, you know what you have to do.”

“File a report?”

“No, this is too much. You’ve got to make the call.” Just wait, Tassia, this will all be over.

Gordon’s fingers flicker over the kill switch and the blind switch. Tassia is Toler-Worthy and Gordon has a choice. “But it’s not Dead Space. I can see her. I know what she’s doing.”

“So you know that she’s cutting out her barcodes to lose you right? You can’t lose her, Gordon.” As I advise Gordon to kill his citizen I wonder what should I have for lunch today?

“I know, I know.”

“You have a choice, what’ll it be?” I ask him in a casual voice. This is office small talk. We may as well be talking about the weather.

Gordon gulps and adjusts his glasses with his free hand. His other hand is still trembling over the switches before settling on the kill switch. His screens go black as his kill switch is registered with Executives and his monitors hijacked while they carry out his request. When they dial back up they read:

 

New Citizen Acquired: #1092-G0-374-X Bailey Ryans F.

His printer starts spitting out her file in a long receipt, just as it had for me with Amy last night.

Gordon takes the long paper and says, “Thank God this one’s Expendable. No more choices.”

I nod and go back to my desk. I look at Amy’s papers. She comes from an Expendable family too but she’s been labeled as Toler-Worthy. I watch the monitors but she’s still idle.

The thing is, I hate my job.

But the truth is, I hate myself.

So if I had to choose between the two I wouldn’t break a sweat. When your job is your whole life and your life sucks, which do you quit?

I say, if I’m gonna die I hope the whole company does too, so that way I won’t feel obligated to haunt it. Even in death I’m a model employee.

It’s not so much that I want to quit, it’s that I want out all together. Sometimes I think a rebellion won’t be so bad. I see these new, pimply teenagers, bright eyed, fresh out of Thought Testing and eager to begin work, just like I was and I pray one of them is the flaw in the system. I hope one of them is an empty headed little shit who doesn’t know code from cornbeef and will let a rebellion uprising seep in through the cracks.

Just once I want this place storming with Executives beginning inquiries and investigations. I want arrests and public executions and I want the sixteen year old who messed up so badly to be the reason we go out of business. I don’t want a rebellion, I don’t have anything against The Sector. I just want the business to go under. I want cutbacks. I want layoffs. I want corporate liquidations, reduction enforcement. I want phase-outs and downsizing. I want class action lawsuits, strikes, and indictments. I want headhunters in the most literal sense of the phrase. I just want to retire. I want to be let go. I don’t want fires in The Sector’s capital, I just want to be fired.

I want to sit down at my supervisor’s desk and have her say that she is so, so sorry to let a good employee go, but my services are just no longer required now that we’re all going to be hunted and killed. I want a severance package that’s just a gun and a note that says “hide”. I want pink slips with coordinates for an underground bunker I can hide in until the war’s over. I want some goddamn sleep. I want to get away from the people who think that this is more than just a job, it’s a “way of life” it’s “how things are” it’s “normal”. I want my supervisor to congratulate me on my however many years of impressive hard work and then a sniper from some rebellion leader to shine its laser right on her head and blow her away.

I want to pack my things in a neat little box, head down the elevator, enter the parking lot during the siege, the storm on my building, all the Expendables armed and ready. I don’t want any part of it, I just want to not have to come in to work the next day. I want a vacation. I want out.

 

Down the hall a ways is the supervisor to the People Watchers of Tacoma, Washington. Her name is Dana Prickett and she’s basically the most fearsome woman in all of the lands. She’s got this power-woman haircut, the kind that sweeps over one eye. People say that if you ever look into that eye that it’s the last thing you’ll see.

She wears suits all the time. I’ve never seen her ankles. Her suits are usually in the Presidency colors. If it’s not a white suit with red heels it’s a red suit with white heels. It’s the red and white pinstriped tailor made vicuna suit and golden leather pumps. It’s always the red lipstick. It’s always the gold eyeshadow. It’s always terrifying. She always wears a gold pin with the party logo pinned to her lapel so if you’re not strong enough to look into her staring evil visible eye you can look at the powerful fist crushing a small plucked weed that’s pinned to her white or red suit. You can pretend that that weed will soon be your optic nerve and that man’s fist, will be hers.

She has got rather large hands, all the more to beat you to death with. Plus with those heels, oh my God, I’m surprised she gets those things through airport security. They’re easily weapons. It’s not like she needs them anyhow. She’s a seven foot tall bazooka with lipstick.

Anyways, she’s terrifying and she’s my boss and I’m terrified to do this but I’ve got to talk to her today. I knock on her already opened door and her head pries off her computer screen, that one eye jabs darts in me. Before I can break out into a cold sweat she says to me in her dominating voice, “Cowan. What can I do for you?”

I stammer, “Can I come in?” She waves her arm in a motion that says ‘yeah, sure’ but could also level an entire city block if she had even just an ounce more force in it. I obey and sit down, then wait the few awkward seconds while she wraps up her business on her computer and gives me her full attention. “Um, well Mrs. Prickett—”

“Miss. Please. My bastard husband is cut off from me now.”

“Oh,” I wonder if he’s still alive... “Well I’m sure you’re aware that I got a new citizen last night.”

“I know everything about this department, Cowan.”

“Of course. What was I thinking?”

“I don’t know. Probably nothing. Is that all you’re here for?”

Oh God, I can almost see the deadly eye. Quick, save yourself! “Um, no. I was wondering, because lately I’ve been getting new citizens that were above the age of two. Shapiro got a fresh citizen today. I usually don’t worry about this stuff but I’m wondering why I always get—”

“Are you complaining, Cowan?”

Shit. “No. Not in the slightest. But I am just curious as to what happened to my current citizen’s former watcher. That’s all.” I think did it, I might survive. “If I may.” There we go.

She clicks and clacks on her computer, “Amy Young. Hmm...” she drums her fingers loudly on the desk. They’re painted red like the Presidency and blood. “Amy Young. Amy Young.” She sucks her teeth and drums some more. “Amy Young...” Please stop saying her name. “A-A-A-my Youngy-Young-Young.” I think I’m going to be sick. Finally she gets what she’s been looking for, “Yes. Amy Young’s former watcher Ms. Hailey Hartnell is no longer with us.”

“Hailey Hartnell?” I knew her, well kind of. I knew she was my age and had done pretty well on her Thought Test. We’d taken it the same year. We knew each other for about an hour at the graduation party the Test Officials threw for us. We hardly spoke. She was promising and ambitious just like we all were; all us top scorers. “She’s dead?”

“Well presumably. She failed to report for three days, her home was empty, we’ve come to conclusions and we’ve given Amy Young to you.”

“Yes. But why me? Why do I keep getting older citizens?”

She smiles at me, “You’re Oliver Cowan. To this date, you are the highest scoring Thought Test taker we’ve had. You’ve had more positive results in your watching in a month than the average watcher can muster up in a year. You’re on your way to the Executive level.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are. Exciting isn’t it? We give you older citizens because we think you can handle them, you make good calls.”

Let me get this straight, “So you’ve given me citizens... known to cause problems?”

She blinks blankly, her face flat lines, she’s terrifying in any state, even neutral. “Well not necessarily. Vincent Lubeck, our new Executive, he gave Amy Young to you specifically. He was very clear that he wanted you to have her. She needs to be watched by the best.”

“Vincent Lubeck? What happened to the old Executive?”

She shrugs, “That old touch of a boy Jason? Eh, probably transferred. Who cares? This new slap of a man, Lubeck is from Seattle and has got hips like you wouldn’t believe. It don’t matter which way you swing this guy will get you thinkin’ about it.” She laughs and slaps the desk, it makes me jump. “Look kid, this is an honor, being spotted by an Executive and given a specific job, I mean hello, can you ask for more? You’re the youngest here and you are brighter and more successful than the People Watchers that have been here since before you were born. That’s probably thanks to that Thought Proof father of yours teaching you well, Eh?”

Wait... my dad was Thought Proof? This is news to me. So I guess I’ll just nod and pretend I knew or something.

Prickett goes on, “Cowan, we’ve given you citizens that fit your level of intelligence. You’d go nuts watching toddlers drool and make bowel movements all day. That’s all The Sector does, is exercise efficiency. This is efficiency.”

I’ve been nodding for thirty straight seconds I should stop. “Um could I maybe have the file on Hailey Hartnell? I’d like to know where she went wrong.”

“You’re a go getter. I like it.” She prints out a long list and folds it up. She tucks it into a white folder with the party logo on it and hands it to me. I give her a nod thanks. Why can’t I stop nodding? It’s my nervous tick. “Is Amy still idle?” I check the mobile on my wrist and start nodding again, oh my God stop. Prickett gathers a few things off her desk and stands up, “Well then let’s get going. You can sit in on today’s morning briefing with the Executive. Gaze upon his godly physique and regard his glass cutting jaw line. How’s that sound?”

Awful. I’d rather be with Amy. But I say, “Great. Let’s go.” God damn my blind obedience.

The Executive briefing is where all the department heads meet up and discuss what’s what and what’s not and what should be and then the department heads get it done. The Spinners, the Life Makers, the People Watchers, they’re all there, well the big guys in charge of them all are. To get there Prickett and I have to take an elevator ride together. It’s awful. We get in and she pushes floor 77, we were on floor 32. As we go up the screen inside turns on. It’s the standard message. It’s a nice big glamor shot of President Sumner, followed by footage of his last parade through the The Sector’s capital, the Prime State, last May (They always update this portion every time there’s a new Prime State Victory Parade). The music that plays is our Sector’s anthem, a really gaudy heroic version of Franz Schubert’s An Die Musik. It’s full of pomp and circumstance and bullshit and anticipatory fear.

Then... cue party logo.

Then smash to: President Graeme M. Sumner’s message to all his citizens spoken from his own lips from behind his desk:

“Citizens of this glorious Sector, there’s no hiding it any longer. For years we’ve hidden The Great War from you. The world was slowly being divided. And it still is. But since we’ve let you in on the harsh realities, you have all been supportive in our efforts to win this war against the rest of the world. We understand the measures we take are drastic. We understand times are tough. But we understand that this is all necessary to keep us safe, keep us united, and keep us standing strong. Under our caring and watchful eyes we can keep each and every one of us safe from the foreign forces outside this magnificent Sector. War is just outside our doors, but it is safe in here. So, stay standing citizens. It’s us against the world. God bless you—”

And here is where Prickett, the big push-up bra of a party supporter, joins in saying the words along with Sumner, “God bless this Sector. And let us continue to rise.” Then the anthem swells once more before fading out to the oscillating party logo.

“Ah,” Prickett sighs, “I love that part.”

The doors open and we exit. And as the doors shut I can still hear the Sector anthem going once more, then Sumner’s voice soaring above me as the elevator goes up the shaft.

On the floor where the Executive briefings take place is like being inside the heart of a robot; cold, mechanical and silent. Completely unalive. But it’s better than the floor I work on. There’s no dusted carpet, there’s polished tile. There’s no foggy windows, there’s glorious framed propaganda posters. There’s no wheezing fax machine, there are lovely fake potted trees.

No old spinny desk chair, but overstuffed white suede waiting couches. They come with red and gold silk throw pillows.

No diseasedly thin or morbidly obese People Watchers, but a cute young receptionist. She comes with a thick, long scar across her neck from where the Spinners censored her words.

Her eyes are foggy and dazed, distant and unreachable from where her People Watcher Thought Proofed her. Whoever she was before had to have been bad. But now she’s a silent hard working Presidency serving citizen. This is progress.

This is efficiency.

This is the world I work in.

She silently, with a closed smile and faded eyes, waves us to the door after scanning each of our barcodes. Her eyes widen at my clearance level, as if she wasn’t expecting that high of a number. Then she looks at me like I’m a god. Thought Proof people can’t get enough of me. If she could speak, she’d congratulate me and tell me how she hopes we may continue to rise.

Then we’re in the meeting room. There’s more aggressively glorious propaganda. There’s a fancy refreshment table. There are no old polywood desks, but one long oval glass table, the party logo etched in the center. We sit down right at the thumb knuckle.

Until the Executive starts speaking, you can hear a pin dropping. We’re all around this oval table and I can tell everyone’s wondering who I am. The Executive especially. But I stare at him because I know who he is.

He’s the new Executive of Tacoma and probably Seattle as well. Formerly an Executive of Houston. Formerly an Executive of The Prime State. Formerly of San Francisco. Formerly of Little Rock. Formerly of Tacoma again. Formerly of Seattle. Formerly from Who Gives A Fuck Because Everyone There Is Dead Now. Formerly from somewhere, never sticking around long enough because there is never a need.

Once Lubeck enters a place where there is a problem there is no longer that problem.

His record is untarnished, as a watcher his record is almost as good as mine, as good as gold. As an Executive he’s managed to quell underground rebellions, annihilate plots, subdue conspiracies, and hunt down rebels of every area he is assigned to with little to no casualties. His being here means something is wrong. This is dazzling.

Oh, this is just great.

This may be the end.

Prickett answers when the Executive asks what my name is, “This is Oliver Cowan.” She says with more enthusiasm than I’ve ever heard her speak with before. For a moment she’s a real girl.

The Executive’s eyes widen and he smiles, “Oliver Cowan! It’s great to finally meet. I’m Vincent Lubeck,” He’s tall and overtly handsome to the point where he almost looks like he’s trying. He’s got wide set shoulders and small but powerful green eyes. I can tell by his expensive suit and his laser whitened smile he’s Worthy. He’s also got long hair for a man, maybe that’s the style. I don’t know. They’ve stopped selling fashion magazines in Tacoma, there are not enough citizens here anymore. But this must be what women like because he’s almost given the dead-eyed she-demon Dana a pulse and maybe even a heart to go with it. This Vincent Lubeck definitely is from Seattle alright. “I’ve heard great things about you.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Really. Your test scores are a major talk around the Executive circle.”

“Thank you.” How is it that up until today I’ve heard jack shit on how people still talk about how well I scored? “And you’ve given me Amy Young on purpose?”

“Yes, once the Life Makers ensured your citizen was going to die by switching her medication we gave you one known rebel, Octavia Wallace. And you lead a great mission into taking her plan down. Then after her death, were going to give you to Amy and give Miss Hartnell a new citizen. But... the late Hartnell is watching from a much higher position now.” He says with absolutely no emotion, no respect for the dead, and a hint of happiness. “But, all for the best, we’ve got our top watcher on a rather curious citizen.”

“Why is she curious?”

“Because of her older sister Sylvia. I knew of the rebellion group she formed,” he says rather bitterly, “And I like to keep tabs on the rest of her family so they don’t try to do the same and if they do I’m the first one informed.” He barely looks at anyone saying this. He just powers through it as if rehearsed. As if the quicker he talks the sooner he can kill them.

Prickett jumps in to speak, “He’s on it like dirt on an Expendable’s face. So you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Well that’s great. And now, first on the agenda for today, Spinners we need new billboards over the west end areas of town extending into the outer areas.”

The head Spinner squints his eyes, “I don’t understand—”

The Executive cuts him off, “We understand it’s a rural area but President Sumner insists on having all billboards replaced. Billboards, even if they’re in empty towns, can still be seen from most aircrafts. So let’s get on it.”

“Yes, Executive.”

“Good,” he says as he sits himself up taller, like he needs to. “Life Makers, have citizen Jackie O’Connor’s pipes burst and make sure it’s citizen Donny Myers who gets the call. We’ve got to try to get them to procreate.”

Wait... “Excuse me,” Vincent turns to me, “Did you say procreate?”

He chuckles and looks at his papers, “Yes. That’s what I said—is that too old fashioned? What does the youth say now? We need them to hook up?” He laughs and looks at Prickett.

She smiles a big toothy grin and laughs back, “Screw?”

He laughs louder back at her. “Do the do?”  

Ew, is this flirting? I don’t like it.

The Life Maker head offers up, “Bang?”

Vincent’s laughter stops on a dime, “Whoa, Reggie. This is a business.”

Reggie retreats, the poor guy.

Vincent offers his attention back on me, “Yes. We call it Pre-Advancing.”

I’ve heard of that before, but I never knew what it meant.

“We’ve determined the Thought Proof life style of Jackie and the strong build of Donny would make for a good soldier.”

“But it would take fifteen years for him to be able to serve after he’s born.” I point out.

“Yes?”

“Well does the Presidency expect the war to be going on that much longer?”

Vincent looks around and then adjusts himself even higher in the chair. It’s a wonder how it’s not breaking under the weight of his physique when I’m crumbling under the weight of his glare, “We can’t expect anything at this point except the worst. We’d like the war to end but we need to be prepared to fight as long as we have to.” The anger in his eyes is so strong I can feel my whole body heating up.

Prickett breaks the silence, “I’ll be sure Jackie’s and Donny’s watchers get the report on your desk as soon as humanly possible.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Prickett.” He smiles.

She waves him off, “Oh please, its Ms. Prickett now.”

“Well then... Ms. Prickett, make sure you announce to your People Watchers that there will be an equipment change this Friday. We’re adding a new switch.” He pushes a button on a small remote control that he pulls out of the pocket inside his fancy coat. God I wish the Tacoma mall wasn’t abandoned anymore. I’ve been in this hoodie for three years now.

A screen drops down from the ceiling and a video is already playing. There’s a woman sitting behind a metal table with both hands flat down. It’s a split screen, on the left is her straight on so it’s like you’re across from her at the table. The right is an aerial view, looking right down on her barcodes. I can tell by her hair and her dirty clothes that she’s definitely Expendable and probably doing this for money, but more likely food. Most likely at the threat of death is she refused. My money is on that last one.

A man in a white lab coat stands in front of the camera and the left screen zooms out to show him to us. He’s holding a sign that reads, “Test Subject #865”

Vincent starts to narrate, “As you can tell we’ve gone with swift and quick justice most of our years with the blind switch and the kill switch. However, we’ve been working on something in between. Check it out.”

Some voice on the video says, “Administer wrist switch.”

“Administering,” echoes another voice, followed by a loud pulse. On the right screen I see Test Subject #865’s barcodes light up in a flash. Then I see her veins bulge, on the left screen her face gets paralyzed in this sort of frozen agony look. Her eyes go in and out in size, swelling and pulsing and shaking and dilating, tearing up.

The flash and pulse radiates through her body and she tenses, each muscle bulging in an anatomically impossible twitch before going limp on the table. We all look away, and back. We all only close one eye. We all only half smile.

 

It’s funny how we can turn our heads away from the things that make us sick to our stomachs.

And then look right back.

It’s funny what we pretend we aren’t accustomed to.

We all do the look-don’t-look-peek and the smile-in-confusion and pretend-it’s-bad-but-not-too-bad thing that we’re all used to doing constantly in this office, in this world, in this wasteland life. All except Lubeck, who has been doing this so long perhaps he’s bored. It’s just business.

 

“Heart rate leveling,” says one voice on the screen.

“Stable,” says another. Then there’s applause as Test Subject #865 lifts her head from between her shoulders, showing her dizzy eyes and bleeding nose. Then the screen goes black.

“So,” says Lubeck, “We call this new switch the wrist switch and it literally is a slap on the wrist. It is a warning for small infractions such as saying anything negative about The Sector, the party, or The Presidency. Also for attacking anyone, physically or otherwise, of a higher label, say an Expendable lashing out on a Toler-Worthy or Thought Proof citizen. There will be a guide book administered to all People Watchers.”

“Wow,” says Prickett clapping her hands together and flashing a gaudy toothy grin, “That looks absolutely fantastic. We get these new toys on Friday?”

“Yes we do.” Lubeck says through a plastered clenched smile, eager to get out of the meeting and back to his hunting.

That’s when the mobile around my wrist goes off. Amy’s no longer idle. I run out of the room.

In the elevator I’m quickly reading over the file Prickett’s printed out for me. I glance at the most recent report first.

 

Name / ID

| 

HAILEY ELIZABETH HARTNELL

| 

8471549562254879  
  
---|---|---  
  
DOB

| 

03 - 28 - 82

| 

POST-W  
  
CITIZEN

| 

AMY MARIE YOUNG

| 

798-B2-334-TW  
  
DATE / CAUSE OF DEATH

| 

11 - 9 - 05

| 

UNDETERMINED  
  
I stare at Hailey’s name. I read on further and I see her Thought Test score, so close to mine. I see the date she graduated, the same as mine. Her age, mine. And I bite my lip to stop myself crying. I only knew Hailey for a little while but I miss her. She was the only person I wanted to talk to after part two of the Thought Test. Everyone else scored so low on that part. But she and I were flawless. I could only talk to her, only she would understand. Fifteen year old me asked her when we found some silence in the party, a table out of the spotlight we’d been in all night, “Why were we so good at that?” Because I was so afraid.

But Hailey told me the truth, “Because we were scared.” And that didn’t make it okay, but it explained it. Which made it worse. But at least I knew why I did it. Hailey and I stuck together that night. Two scared, fucked up kids trying to feel like humans again.

I need to stop crying. Stop remembering Hailey. Stop remembering dead Hailey. Stop thinking that she’s dead and I am next. I go to my pocket in my hoodie to pull out Amy’s file that I printed last night. No, that’s an empty Chips Ahoy packet. I drop that on the ground. Then pull out, ah there it is, Amy’s folded up file. In the background, Sumner’s talking about how all of this is necessary.

 

CITIZEN

| 

AMY MARIE YOUNG

| 

798-B2-334-TW  
  
---|---|---  
  
DOB

| 

07 - 23 - 85

| 

PRE-W  
  
CURRENT / FORMER PEOPLE WATCHERS

| 

(4)

AXL MORGAN JR. (DECEASED)

GREG BARON COONS (DECEASED)

MICHA VALERIE WATSON (DECEASED)

HAILEY ELIZABETH HARTNELL

(DECEASED)

| 

OLIVER AARON COWAN

(522347593016138)

  


\- 21, PRE-W

\- THOUGHT TEST (450)

\- THOUGHT PROOF HOUSEHOLD

\- PRE-ADVANCED

\- CLEARANCE LEVEL 8  
  
Before Hailey, Amy had three other watchers. I check my mobile. She’s awake but just sitting in her bed looking out her window.

More so than all of Amy’s former watchers being deceased I look closer at pre-advanced under my information. I always thought that meant I advanced above other kids my age earlier than expected, hence my high Thought Test score. But now I know what that means. Life Makers made sure that my Expendable mother procreated with my Thought Proof dad.

The mom I never knew gave me my smarts, and my dad who I don’t remember, shaped me up into the perfect People Watcher.

I’m a model citizen and a programmed perfect employee of the month. This is what I’ve always wanted.

This is what I was born to want.

This is all too much now.

As soon as the doors open I run and I hear Sumner say, “God bless this Sector and let us continue to rise.”

I walk through the endless labyrinth of cubicles, mini jail cells in which we spend our days watching other prisoners. Sometimes I want to run through the floor with a bat, or a crow bar, smashing every monitor to bits, crushing every switch, every button and key. Melt the batteries of our headsets. Crush every desk phone and shred ever mousepad. I want to dismantle the desks and chairs, each bolt and screw, rip out the equipment wire by wire, smash the circuit boards and feed every bit to a feral dog then light its electronic dog shit on fire.

I want to ruin everything, yell to the Expendables, “It’s over! They can’t see you! Come and get them!” Just for the sake of me going home and getting some goddamn sleep. I don’t want to kill my co-workers, or my bosses, or Sumner, I just want to remodel the office. Tear out the lighting fixtures and the carpet, you know, spruce up the place by burning it to the ground. And maybe we’d all relocate. And maybe I’d oversleep and not show up and never get the email with the new office address. God, that would be Heaven on Earth. My fantasies are not murderous, they’re decorative. Sparks and flames are the new hardwood floorings and personalized desk units. A baseball bat and a blowtorch is the new Ikea catalogue. Angry, murderous, Expendable rebels are the new Thought Proofed receptionists with ripped out vocal chords. Blood is the new paint, in glorious Presidency colors.

Two weeks ago I rerouted all the printers and hacked them all to print the lyrics to Romeo Void’s Never Say Never over and over again. That set us back a day but we all still kept watching. So I started printing Tiny Tim’s Living In The Sunlight. Then we had a staff meeting. It lasted five minutes. So goes my rebellious ways and here I remain a full time employee.

A week before that I clogged all the toilets with unsharpened pencils. That’s why half don’t flush.

I bought every single bag of Chips Ahoy three days before that. But people just started buying Fig Newtons.

Before that, I faked a heart attack. But those are so common amongst us that Gordon just waited for me to die. Everyone else had their headsets on and didn’t hear a damn thing.

Even before that pissed in the coffee maker. I didn’t hear a word from anyone. So the poor sad watcher must be so far gone, the gazer didn’t even notice a different, more tangy taste.

A month before that, I was lazy and just hacked into other watcher’s feeds, jamming up their controls over their cameras, temporarily jiggling the angles all over the place. Flipping it upside down. Pointing it into a dark shadow. Zooming in on a guy’s ass crack.

Before all that I did nothing. I was a model employee. I was a little bored, but I was dedicated. I was young and dumb and afraid of fucking up. Now I realize there are boundaries that are easy to push. But I’m still too much of a pussy to push anything over the edge. I need a push myself.

I make it back to my cubicle. Amy gets up and gets dressed, but I avert my gaze. I don’t know, I usually don’t have a problem with nakedness but Amy’s different. After she’s dressed in jeans and a black shirt with a green jacket that’s probably from one of her older brothers she heads down the stairs. Her house outside her room resembles the house on the outside; it’s kind of falling apart. There’s do-dads and whosie-what’s-it’s all over stacking up in the hallways. Some of the walls have decayed and are held up with plywood. The windows are dusty and cracked. The plants are dead. It’s a real shit hole.

Down stairs is no different except there are her brothers, father and two other men standing over the kitchen counter. The only one who notices her enter is her mother, sitting at the kitchen table staring at the window. She gives her a little smile and Amy gives her an even smaller one.

The men are arguing.

“Damn it dad, why won’t you trust us?” Says the shorter brother. According to my files this is Jim. This is Amy’s older brother. This is interesting.

“I trust you fine,” his dad says through clenched teeth. He peeks over his shoulder at Amy who's staring at them outside the huddle. “Not now,” he says to them as he turns back. From the angle I’ve got I can’t see what their huddling over so I type in some codes to adjust the angle of the camera and I get a quick peak. They haven’t written anything so I don’t need to report to a Spinner. It’s just a map of what looks like Tacoma, but the outer areas are circled and dotted. Technically it’s not written word, it’s symbols. Usually code needs to be reported but this doesn’t look like code it’s just routes. This is me slacking.

This is me not being the best.

This is new.

One of the older men, one with a long white beard says, “Shhh...” then looks right at me. Then back to the map. “Fold it up. I’ve heard it adjust. It done just moved up near three more feet, got itself a birds eye now.”

Whoa. That was really accurate. No one ever notices when I adjust my angle. I must really be moving up, they’re assigning me really clever citizens.

Let’s test.

-Run

CM-NW-K-223=

</CTL-389-3578> R-3DEG-N-L-2DEG/>

-ENTER

“Moved back now, round ‘bout twelve inches just behind my head.” Holy shit. “Then whipped back but not near so close to where it was. Watcher’s got twitchy fingers. Little bastard.”

Hey.

“Well,” says Amy as she steps into their circle and helps them fold it up, “There’s seven of us in here right now. Seven citizens equals seven watchers, all locked into that,” She points at me. I smile for some reason. “They're probably fighting for control.”

She’s right. God she’s smart. There’s only one camera in this room, only one of my screens is on and all seven of their barcodes are registered in the corner. I look up their ID’s on one of my side screens.

It’s Amy’s mom and Dad as well as her two brothers, Diane, Peter, Jim and PJ Young.

Then the long bearded man is Jed Crockett, age 49, Expendable.

Wait... 49? Wow, he looks, well, like crap.

The other man is David Blight, age 51, Expendable. Amy’s the only Toler-Worthy in the room.

David sighs, “She’s right. We’ve got to stop meeting in small places with large groups.”

“Give it some time,” says Peter, “Soon enough we won't have enough people to fill a room.”

“Dad!” Amy scolds. “Don’t talk that way.”

PJ grimaces, “Watchers have flipped switches on nearly everyone this side of town. Everyone who didn’t turn into a Presidency loving mindless zombie has been killed. Dad’s right, Expendables are a dying breed and our side of town, the outer areas, are graveyards.”

Amy sighs. I can tell she doesn’t like thinking the way PJ is. She changes the subject, “Are you guys going out to town?”

“No,” Peter says, “Not enough men—”

Jim interrupts, “But there are enough people. If Amy comes. She’ll be fine, we’ll keep her safe.”

Amy’s jaw drops and she scoffs, “Screw that. I can keep myself safe. And you said it yourself, dad, who’s going to be out there to attack us? We’re almost all wiped out this side of town.” Peter hangs his head, “We’ve got to get to Seattle.”

“No. No.” He responds, getting cross.

“Your dad’s right,” says David, “We go to Seattle we won't last a day. The Worthy’s and Toler-Worthy’s will trample us to death. We’d be denied housing, jobs, food... Expendables are poison to big cities.” David’s got overalls on and a big army hat; the old fashion kind with the wide brim. His rubber boots are tracking dirt in the house, God how rude.

“Then let’s make the best of Tacoma while we can,” she counters, “Dad I am a resource, I can help, I can bring back just as much supplies as the boys. Come on. You can’t protect me. No one can.”

“I can.”

I don’t know why I just said that.

“There’s going to be other Expendables out there looking for supplies and looking for heads to take back to Exec. Cops. We’re bounties. I will not have your corpse pay for some other family’s dinner,” Peter swears.

“I won’t-” she says with a mischievous grin showing, it’s kind of hot actually.

PJ catches it, “Amy... you know we don’t kill our own kind. The bounty law is a trap so we end up shooting ourselves up and do their job for them.”

“And so we can’t make alliances,” Ads Jim.

“Well I think your personality takes care of that for us, Jimmy.” Amy says with a laugh. I laugh too. This is me making the most of my work day.

This is me living vicarious fantasies.

This is the only life I have and it’s never really mine.

Jim chuckles and shoves her a bit with his shoulder, “Yeah and so does your face.”

PJ laughs, “Okay we get it. You’re both ugly and annoying. Quit screwing around or dad won’t trust us enough. And promise,” He now holds a steady finger in front of them and stops smiling, “we will not exterminate any other Expendable families, got it?” Asks PJ of Amy in a stern tone.

“Fine...” She relinquishes. “So that means I’m going then, yeah?”

Peter sighs, “Yeah. You and your brothers are going to the Warehouse Store first. See if anything’s left there, then the gas station. And if there’s any freshly abandoned houses on your way home just stop briefly. You hear one noise, guys, one suspicious noise, you get out. You hear me?” They nod like soldiers. “Dave, Jed and I are going to the mill. Meet us there when you're done, we may need some help.”

“What about mom?” Asks Jim. They all turn to her, she looks back.

Peter asks, “Honey, you’ve got your shotguns?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good. She’ll be fine.”

My screen goes black and the one above flicks on as Amy leaves the kitchen and runs upstairs, down the hall and into her room. She goes into her dresser and gets a gun, checks the ammo and tucks it in the back of her jeans. She pulls on a thigh holster and grabs a bigger gun from under her bed and straps it in. Then she pulls a knife out of a jewelry box and hooks it to a strap on her belt. Then lastly, she pulls a tiny gun out from under her pillow. She kicks her foot on the bed, but before she puts it in her boot she aims it straight at the camera. This is bad.

This is a kill switch move for an Expendable.

This is it.

My heart races. If she pulls the trigger, I have to flip the switch. Either the kill or the blind switch it’s up to me.

“Don’t do it, Amy.” I whisper.

And as if replying to me she says to the camera, looking right at me, “Bang.” Then tucks it into her boot. I lean back and sigh in relief like a drug addict hearing his dealer did find the back up supply. I’m shaking, similarly to the same drug addict from that last simile.

She runs back out the door, down the hall, down the stairs and joins her brothers out the door. She high fives them and they run down their cracked driveway, covered in overgrown weeds, a human skeleton or two, and more do-dads and thing-a-ma-bobs. Then they talk and head down the road through their dilapidated neighborhood full of empty crumbled houses, headed to town, full of mission, like they’re the last humans on Earth.

 ****  
  


 

TWO

What started The Great War was, two continents decided to become one giant power. They say it was Australia and Africa. They called themselves Sector One. Then Europe and Asia untied as The Great Sector and tried to take over Sector One. North and South America joined forces to intervene and called themselves The Last Sector. This proved false when South America seceded from The Last Sector to become Sector Victorious. Sector Victorious planned a coup d’état on The Last Sector and completely wiped out Canada, overtook Mexico, and assassinated most of The States’ head political leaders and the government toppled. Then Graeme Edward Oscar Sumner was the first to rise to power. He had companies here and there, headquaters everywhere, corporations and respect and money and ideas and a way with words. He had lobbyists on the inside and knew what no one else did as far as political secrets and blackmail went. That’s when he released the full story of the war that the old government tried so hard to hide from The States. Graeme E.O. Sumner was our new hero. The slimey corporate blackmailing lobbyist with offshore bank accounts found the truth and used it not for gain, but the greater good. He was rewarded our trust, he became our leader. The States then named themselves just The Sector. Go figure.

The Sector vanquished The Last Sector. The title is now fitting as they were the last sector to fall. To this day Sumner’s been running things by keeping all citizens in and all foreigners out. We’ve had air raids but our army grows by the thousands each day since we can now draft fifteen year olds. And not just any fifteen year olds, but fifteen year olds born and trained their whole lives to fight. The air raids last no more than a day and The Sector is always victorious. That’s why there’s a war parade every month in the Prime State; there’s always victories to be celebrated, casualties to mourn, and brave young soldiers to honor.

The plan is to let Sector One and The Great Sector collapse on each other. They’re fighting each other but they’re also fighting us to take down our borders. We don’t associate with any other Sector, no trade, no nothing. Eventually their economy will collapse and they’ll die out. Either that or they’ll both bomb each other to death.

And while they’re getting weaker our Sector is supposed to be getting stronger from the inside building our economy by manufacturing and trading strictly internally. Eliminating the Expendables, people in poverty, not making enough money to contribute to and stimulate the economy, those living off the government. We’re getting stronger supposedly from the bottom up. We’re supposed to let the Expendables die out like a failing breed. The Toler-Worthy’s will help get the Worthy’s to where they can run The Sector efficiently. And we, the party members, keep a watchful eye on the inside to make sure everyone is a Sector Citizen. And we make sure each Sector Citizen is loyal, upstanding, trustworthy, and proud of the party and the Presidency.

The citizens weren’t supposed to know about that last bit. But somehow it was leaked and when the cameras and barcodes were discovered for what they really were, chaos ensued. But they didn’t know about the kill switch and the blind switch. So their uprising, the “Civil War”, only lasted about half a day and over fifteen million people died and seventy-five million became Thought Proof.

And that leads us to where we are today.

  
****

“What do you miss the most, Jim?” Amy asks, walking ahead of her two brothers but facing them, walking backwards. She’s got the best smile. It crinkles her nose and eyes and shows just the top row of her teeth.

Jim laughs, “I don’t know. I wish we had enough power to keep ice cream.”

Amy nods, “I think I remember ice cream.” She steps over a turned over shopping cart on the sidewalk as they pass what looks like a mini-mart that was bombed or exploded and raided. “I think I liked the pink kind but I don’t remember what flavor that was.”

“Bubble gum?” Jim asks.

 

“Strawberry.” I say.

“What’d you say, Oliver?” Asks Gordon from over my shoulder.

“Nothing.”

 

“It was strawberry,” says PJ.

 

“There you go,” I whisper this time.

 

“Yeah!” Amy bursts into a great laughter, “Jesus, I haven’t had a strawberry in years.” Her smile gets sad. I get sad. “Ice cream was good.”

“Ice cream was bomb, Aim, you have no idea. I mean before you were born, back when PJ and I actually went to school, they had a truck that would come down and park at the corner where the driver knew each kid passed on their way home. And he’d sell all kinds of ice cream, Aim, you’d’ve died. Some had nuts, some had actual real fruit inside it. He had chocolate, vanilla, sometimes he’d swirl the two together. Rainbow sherbert... strawberry, lemon. He’d sell a cone or a bar for like a dollar. And the truck would play music.”

“Shut up!” Amy yells.

“Truth. It was crap music, mind, but it was still exciting. He’d play it right as the final bell rang and all the kids would hear it and run to it. It was righteous.” Jim smiles at the memory.

“What do you miss PJ? You’re older, you remember all the cool stuff.”

PJ looks straight on, never breaking focus, “Movie theaters. When I was a kid, I could see all kind of sweet films with like aliens and dinosaurs. Pirates and cowboys, that kind of stuff you know? They had cartoons. It was like a drawing that moved and talked.” Amy’s gorgeous eyes light up. “But then when things got tense with the Sectors, the Spinners started taking those movies out. Because the film was so flammable, they used the film to make emergency amo and bombs once things got real intense. It was such a shame. Brilliant, classic films went into killing people. Got so bad that by ‘93 they stopped making movies entirely. Hollywood thought movies would be our saving grace, our last escape from the grim reality around us but it turned into the fuel for the fire. So filmmakers stopped because they thought they were making art but really they were making weapons. Then all they played at the movies was propaganda films about why the war was great, how amazing it would be when we rose above and all the other sectors burned down. How we’d emerge from behind our barriers stronger than ever and take the planet as our own. Of course that was before they told us only the rich and the powerful would be the ones to live that long. It made me think the war was so cool and exciting.”

Amy changes the subject. God, she does that a lot. And she’s good at it. “What’d it look like? The... movie theater?”

“It wasn’t big. It had a sign on the front that said Norton’s Picture House.”

 

Wait...

 

He goes on, “It had a window where you bought tickets, then you walk in and there was a snack bar in the center, two hallways on either side, and a set of stairs. Upstairs was the projection booths and the owners apartment...”

 

Oh my God.

 

“... And down the two halls were the theaters. They had six rows each with twelve seats in each row.”

 

He’s describing my house.

Well, the thing is with us party members, the People Watchers, the Spinners, and the Life-Makers, we are valuable to the Presidency and hunted typically by citizens. Of course if any of them attack us their watchers have to flip a switch immediately. But they still like to keep us safe, the Executives in the presidency. So when we’re fifteen and given a job we’re given a secret house in town wherever there’s still a decent population and ways to stay alive, you know... stores still open, electricity still working, grocery stores still stocked. I wish I was placed in Seattle so I can buy some new clothing and a decent cup of coffee in the morning, and where my career is heading it looks like I might get there. But as long as I am a People Watcher I will live in Tacoma in what used to be Norton’s Picture House.

Some People Watchers live in abandoned stores in the Tacoma Mall or in little shut down businesses on Mainstreet. But the Presidency would never put a party member in a home or apartment. Those are targets. So we all live in old businesses. I live in what was once a movie theater. I guess I have some exploring to do. I never really leave the apartment above the projection booths.

I had no idea I had a snack bar. I’ll need to go to the store to stock up.

 

PJ after a few silent moments of reflection he speaks again, “But what I miss the most is Sylvie.”

Then it’s really quiet. And Amy turns around and walks forward again. I see her wipe a tear five minutes later. Seeing her cry almost makes me join her.


	2. Chapter 2

The journey to their destination is slow and frankly it’s really depressing. All they pass is crumbled old neighborhoods, bombed schools, crapped out street lights and telephone wires. The only things in the decayed town that are still operational are the cameras I’m watching them on. Though occasionally a billboard will pop up and play Sumner’s message 78 by 65 feet high and wide across the sky. When he speaks PJ and Jim will tell Sumner to go do something to himself or shove something somewhere and suck some of their body parts and Amy just flips him off. When The Sector anthem blares they sing along crudely making loud screeching noises to the tune. It makes me laugh but then when the billboard zaps out they get that glum look again and Jesus it makes my job harder.

They pass more empty shells of cars and dead plants and animals but they navigate through them really well so I know they’ve taken this route before and grown used to all the destruction around them. They don’t even look at all the graffiti. Some is cool. Some is art. Some is aggressive propaganda probably done by the younger Thought Proofed citizens. One I notice in particular says, “Only The Worthys Will Rise.” Probably not done by a Thought Proofed citizen, that one. But Amy and her brothers pass it and don’t spare it a glance. It’s all so commonplace for the Young siblings. But I can tell by their faces, just because they’re used to this world doesn’t mean they’re okay with it.

Everything I see except Amy’s face, is really just depressing.

 

During down time like this I have time to think about other things, like things in my life. But my life is completely consumed by my job so there’s not much to think about. Being a People Watcher, and just being a party member or civil-servant in general, isn’t as glamorous as one thinks. I mean for starters I live in a movie theater that was shut down in 1992. I also live in Tacoma and though it’s not entirely the outer areas it’s not glamorous, it’s not Seattle and it’s for sure not the Prime State. And because per regulation I have to wear the mobile on my wrist, I can be spotted as a party member just like that. And not just any party member, a People Watcher. For some reason watchers are seen as “the enemy”. We’re “the bad guys” just because our job is to report every wrong move a citizen makes and know every aspect of their lives. They blame us for the killings that happened during the uprising. But the truth is, People Watchers flip the switch, yeah, but after that our screens go blank and it’s taken up with the Executives and they handle all of that.

 

So this morning while Amy was idle I went to the coffee shop a few blocks down from my house. Inner areas of Tacoma have a good mix between Toler-Worthy and Thought Proof citizens. On my walk to the coffee shop I passed a few Thought Proof citizens and they saw my mobile and they smiled and waved and told me to keep up the good work. Some made a fist similar to the party logo and said, “Let The Sector rise”. And they all were dressed like Dana Prickett with bright Presidency colors and giant smiles, oh my God it was terrifying just by association.

But then I passed that crowd of Thought Proof citizens and they headed off to their jobs that keep Tacoma standing; Selling food in the stores that are still open, pumping gas for cars that still run, that sort of thing. Then I got to the coffee shop and outside was a group of young Toler-Worthy kids. They weren’t much younger than me and they definitely had better clothes than I do. They probably have more time to go scouring the abandoned mall for new things to wear than I do, my job is time consuming.

“Look at that,” said the only girl in the group of four, “The watcher’s got his little watching watch on.” I looked at my mobile and had to admit, okay yeah, that was certainly clever.

“I can’t take it off.” I told them.

The scariest looking of the four stood up. He had a spiky mohawk and giant boots, “Can’t or won't?”

“I-” I don’t know. “I-”

The girl stood up, “Watcher can’t think of an answer?”

They all stood up and were walking toward me now. I felt like I had to diffuse the situation, “Not a proper one.”

They were like really close to me by that point. So close I could tell what kind of bagels they had, and who took cream with their coffee. Two of the guys grabbed me by my arms and lifted me a few inches off the ground and flung me into the alley. I got slammed against the wall. I heard my hoodie tear, which sucks because it’s my only one. The mohawk held a small knife to my neck. I wasn’t scared for a few reasons: One, I could tell he’d made it himself out of a door handle. And two, I saw a camera turn, zoom, and zero in on him. I knew I was being seen and they’d be able to tell I was a party member and they’d send Exec. Cops or something to come and save me.

“Listen, creaton. People are dying and you watchers are killing us-”

“It’s actually very much a tier based system.”

One dude asked, “What?”

I tried my best to explain, “Um. Tiers like that of a cake. And on that proverbial cake, a People Watcher is slightly above a Life Maker which is sometimes lower than or equal to a Spinner. However all three are below Executives, they handle most of the work. Work that is necessary against the outside Sectors in the war-”

I got messed up pretty bad after that, the two dudes holding me slammed my head into the wall and the mohawk tipped the knife and held the tip of it just under my eye.

“Let’s see if watchers have a  switch. Lets do a little dissection and if there is a switch, we’ll flip it.”

 

And that’s when for the first time, I witnessed a switch being flipped first hand. It started with him just freezing up, Mr. Mohawk guy. He just stood there.

The girl said, “Ryan... Ryan?”

Then his right eye rolled to the back of his head. The white of his eye went red and bloodshot then his mouth foamed and he fell back. The two dudes holding me dropped me and I slumped back, hitting my head again and much to my disappointment tearing my hoodie even more. All I could think about was how ugly I’d look for Amy. It didn’t really occur to me that she would not be seeing me.

The two dudes grabbed for their fallen friend, I saw the camera adjust and zoom out to see all the citizens. The girl was screaming at him to wake up and stand up and please please oh God get the hell up. I didn’t have the heart to tell her he couldn’t hear her because he was dead. And that he couldn’t stand up because he was dead. Then she turned her vengeance on me, “You did this! You monster!” And she came swinging at me and clawing at me. I dodged her attacks a few times before the two dudes got up from the ground by their friend’s side and flung themselves on the girl and held her back from me. But not protecting me of course. Protecting her.

“Julie! Julie!” Yelled one, “He didn’t do it. It was Ryan’s watcher, okay?”

“I don’t care!” She screamed and kicked, “I want them all dead!”

I started backing up out of the alley, “Condolences.”

The other dude yelled after me, “Fuck off, watcher.” Then turned back to the girl, “Julie he’s not worth it. He’s not worth your life. You attack him, your watcher flips your switch. We’re lucky we got that far without getting either killed or given a Presidential lobotomy, right? Now come on.” And they ran out of the back side of the alley.

But Julie turned to me, “I’m going to find you.”

“Julie, let’s go.” And she followed them and sprinted down the alley, turned a corner and vanished from me. But not from whoever it is in this building that I’m currently in that’s assigned to watch their every move.

 

Then it was just me and mohawk Ryan in the alley. I figured since it was five AM and Amy was young and likely to be idle for the next four hours I could spare a moment from her. I scanned Ryan’s barcode with my mobile and pulled up his file.

  
  


CITIZEN

| 

RYAN GILBERT WILSON

| 

722-C2-464-TW  
  
---|---|---  
  
DOB

| 

10 - 02 - 90

| 

POST-W  
  
CURRENT / FORMER PEOPLE WATCHERS

| 

(1)

  
  
| 

GERRY ROBERT COLDWATER

(889566324578412)

  


\- 37, PRE-W

\- THOUGHT TEST (102)

\- THOUGHT PROOF HOUSEHOLD

\- CLEARANCE LEVEL 4  
  
 

Gerry? Oh Christ. He’s still alive? Gerry is what watchers in the break room sometimes call Gazers. They just stare, glazed eyes, slack jaw, cheeto stained fingers waiting for their citizens to do something interesting, passing the time by scratching their butts. They’re usually around fifty or sixty. And they die off, watchers, around that age. Then they’re replaced with a shiny new teenager. Tacoma was generally filled with shiny new teenagers, I think that had something to do with Vincent Lubeck, Tacoma’s Executive. After meeting him today, I’m sure that being the Seattle man he is he’s all about efficiency and appearances. Gerry doesn’t fit that bill and I’m surprised he’s still working for The Sector. Gerry had been watching Ryan Wilson since he was two, which was apparent from his rather average Thought Test score.

 

Hm, Amy and her brothers are still walking but... yeah, it looks like they’re almost there. I’ve got some time still. Thinking of looking up Ryan Wilson, makes me curious about looking up more on Amy’s family. Specifically the two men who were at her house, David and Jed. I’m most curious about Jed and how he’s come to be so familiar with the cameras.

 

Let’s go back to my history. Let’s double check Jed a bit further.

  
  


CITIZEN

| 

JEBEDIAH BOYER CROCKETT

(DECEASED)

| 

412-V8-238-X  
  
---|---|---  
  
DOB

DOD

| 

08 - 13 - 55

02 - 09 - 04

| 

PRE-W  
  
CURRENT / FORMER PEOPLE WATCHERS

| 

(6)

GREG MAYFIELD

(DECEASED)

GEORGIA MAE WITHERS (DECEASED)

OLIVIA OCTAVIA MILLS (DECEASED)

MAXIMILLION FRANKLIN SMITH (DECEASED)

JULIAN KRANKHEIT JR (DECEASED)

KAREN OSWALD

(DECEASED)

  
  
| 

N/A  
  
 

Jed is dead? No he’s not. He has no watcher. How is that possible? His code obviously still registers. But it goes no where. It gets lost in the system. If I trace his code I can probably go back and track him, maybe even watch him myself. I can see how he’s learned all he knows about the cameras.

And like Amy... all his watchers have died.

 

I quick look up more on his last watcher Karen Oswald and-- Shit. She died the tenth of February of last year. The day after Jed supposedly died.

 

Let’s look up David... Oh no. One look and I can already see.

All of David’s watchers are dead, he still has one. It’s Alison Monart, she’s just a few cubicles down.

Amy’s dad... five previous watchers, all dead. Current watcher: Dan Fleming.

PJ: Four, all dead. Current watcher: Mary Langdon

Jim: Four, all dead. Current watcher: Spencer Williams

Amy’s mom: One, still alive, Karl Burns

 

I get up and look around, They’re all on this floor and I can pick them out, all Amy’s family’s watchers are sitting near me. All except Jed who according to The Sector, he’s dead.

 

I wonder if they know that nearly all the people who used to have their jobs are dead.

I wonder if they’re as scared right now as I am.

 

But what I’m most scared of is Amy. I’m scared for her and I’m scared of what will happen to me if danger comes her way. I’m scared what will happen if she gets into trouble and what I might have to do to her. That scares me more than what can happen to me. I mean... I don’t have much to lose.

 

I trace Jed’s code as a permanent background system in my computers and write a script that can pull up his feed with a few quick shortcut codes. I can’t look at him now, not until Amy is idle.

Crap, I’ve got a full time job.

 

Oh, they’ve made it to the warehouse. It’s massive. It’s got like a thousand hollow cars in the lot, old stands on the sidewalks, and tumbleweeds- Tumbleweeds? Those exist? In Washington? Wow, I should get out more. What am I doing with my life at this point besides watching other lives? Do I have a life or do I just live vicariously through those I watch? Who even am I? I’m 21 and I’ve only have 15 years of real development. I’ve never even seen a store this big.

Holy shit, the inside is even crazier! They’ve got tires and mattresses and books and lightbulbs. And that’s just the first aisle. It looks like it’s been raided, plundered, pillaged, and ransacked pretty well. But there’s still some good stuff. I’m not sure what they’re looking for.

Amy’s looking at the books. Wow, she likes reading. That’s cool. She’s putting one in her bag--

 

“Hey, nerd.” It’s PJ yelling, “No books. We need room for real stuff.”

Amy looks at it regrettably and puts it back then follows him closely again.

 

What a jerk.

 

They’re stocking up their bags with nuts, cereals, anything dried and packaged pretty much. By the looks on their faces all the good stuff is gone. They don’t say much.

 

I hear voices in my headset. I can pick up more than the human ear can. I type in codes for other cameras near by and four of my monitors light up. Coming in an opposite entrance is another family. I don’t bother with their bar codes, I know they’re Expendable so that means they won't hesitate to kill Amy and her family for their bounty, that’s three heads ready for them on a plate right now. I focus on Amy and her brothers, still packing things away, not aware of the family heading in.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Come on,” I murmur. I look around my cubicle. Gordon’s headset is on, he can’t hear. I stand up and look around, everyone’s headsets are on; It’s the height of the day and everyone’s got to listen in, most citizens are awake, so lots of chatter. But just to be sure, “PENIS!” Hmm, no one’s looking. Good. No one can hear me. I sit back down and focus on the other family advancing, and Amy and her family still just gathering stuff. I’ve got to do something.

I start typing codes on my side screens like mad, I horn in on the location. The building hasn’t had power itself in years but there’s always an easy trigger for the...

 

“Fuck!” Yells a family member from the others as the fire alarms go off and the sprinklers rain down, “Someone’s here!” He shoots his gun in the air, “We’ve got guns! You’re a bounty! You’re dead!”

 

Now Amy and her brothers hear this and they get scurrying and run back the way they came, guns yielded and eyes frantic, searching for anyone they don’t know. I take a sigh of relief.

 

“Go, Go!” Yells PJ when they reach the doors. He turns his back on them and they keep running. My cameras follow Amy so I don’t see why PJ’s stopped. But as I watch Amy run, I pick up gunshots in my headset, followed by Amy screaming.

Jim yells over to her, “Keep running, Amy! He’s fine! He’s fine!”

 

And they keep running until they hit the gas station a few blocks west from the Warehouse Store. They’ve stopped, they’re catching their breath.

“Jim, what do you think happened?” Amy asks, I can hear the tremble in her voice,

“He fought them off, he’s tying them up now. Any minute we’ll have bounties and can maybe even afford some new shoes... amo?”

“Ice cream?” She laughs.

Jim shakes his head and chuckles, “Yeah, who knows.”

“We’d need a fridge.”

“A freezer. You put ice cream in a freezer.”

They’re heading for the pumps, they each take out a tiny canister from their backpacks and start to fill them up. I don’t know how they’ve rigged that. But my guess is Jed figured something out.

 

Then I see him running toward them, no bodies in tow. Oh no. PJ yells out to them and they turn.

Amy walks quickly toward him, “PJ!”

“Don’t move, Amy! Jim, hold her back!”

Jim comes to Amy’s side and holds her. “PJ,” he asks calmly, “What’s happened.”

PJ stays calm, “The family. They were after us for our bounty... but... they weren’t Expendable.”

Amy’s crying, “So that means?”

“It means a lot of things. Toler-Worthy families are getting worse too. Expendables are dying out and they know they’re next. The Presidency just wants a world of Worthy families.”

Jim looks sternly at him, “What else does it  mean?” PJ just hangs his head. Oh no.

Amy steps forward when Jim drops his arm from her shoulder, “PJ? Where’s the family?”

“I was trying to help.” He says so quietly I almost have to turn up my headset, “I just figured it was us or them. So I made it them. I was trying... I thought...” He takes a deep breath and runs his hands over his face, “I thought I was helping us. But they were Toler-Worthy. I’m Expendable. I killed a whole Toler-Worthy family. Their watchers will know, my watcher knows. It’s not long before...”

 

“They flip the switch.” I finish for him.

Wait. Before Mary Langdon flips the switch. As Amy starts crying onto Jim’s shoulder I spring up from my desk. I can hear Amy’s sobs through my headset still. I make it to Mary’s cubicle and take off my headset. I stare at her screens. She’s got her finger over PJ’s kill switch, her other hand is holding a cup of tea, she’s blowing over the top.

 

“Mary Langdon?” She spins around and smiles at me. “Oliver Cowan.” I introduce.

She smiles a big toothy smile back to me. She’s 19, she’s got dark skin and big curly black hair. She’s dressed like a Seattle person in a big fuzzy pink sweater and dark jeans with no holes or stains. “I know. Hi.”

“You know?” Oh yeah, my Thought Test scores are probably big talk when I’m not around, “Right. Of course,” I’ve got to play the part. Over her shoulder I see PJ with his eyes closed, probably wondering why he’s not dead yet.

Mary catches me staring, “Is everything okay?” Her smile is gone when I return my gaze to her.

“Oh everythings...” Distract her. Flirt. Juggle. Explode. Anything! “That’s a nice outfit. Um, it’s really... Big City if you know what I mean?”

She laughs, “I knew a guy in the city. He liked to buy me gifts.”

“Well he’s got good taste.” Oh shit, I hope she doesn’t think I’m calling him homosexual. Quick change the subject. Get to the point! “Um, look as you probably know I was in the Executive meeting today.”

“Oh yeah. Moving up in the world?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Well, what’s this about? I’ve just got confirmation on a kill from five Toler-Worthy watchers and I’m about to get rid of my Expendable citizen and get a new one.”

Shit. “Right, that’s why I’m here. Vincent Lubeck directs that Peter Young Junior needs to live. I know he’s Expendable but it’s necessary that we don’t flip the kill switch.”

“Well I’ve got to flip something.” She tells me. Then she stares because I can’t think of what else to say, she can tell I’m lying. I’m screwed. I’m screwed. I’m so screwed. “Oliver?” She asks. I take one last look at the screen behind her and finally come up with a solution.

“Um. The blind switch.” I murmur.

“What?”

“The blind switch. Lubeck thinks PJ will make a superb Thought Proof citizen.”

 

On my headset, I can hear coming from around my neck, PJ’s screaming, “Just do it! Just kill me! You fucking watcher! You coward, just do it! ...Just let me die.”

 

I stammer, “He’s- He’s strong, well built, smart and dedicated. He’d serve the party line well. He’s an upstanding citizen. Someday he may even make a decent civil-servant as an assistant or secretary or something. Flip the blind switch.” She squints at me. I stand up straight and tall like Lubeck, “That’s an order, Langdon.”

She nods and puts her tea down, spins her chair and flips it.

 

On the screen I see PJ fall to his knees and scream. Amy lunges at him, Jim holds her back. She yells his name. I get a giant pit feeling in my gut. My palms sweat. I feel like an ass. Amy and Jim cry as PJ yells. Then he falls over. And they stand and it’s silent.

Mary turns around and snaps my attention away, “You said PJ. He’s only called PJ by the other people around him... Mind if I ask who your citizen is, Oliver?”

Play the part. Don’t be a coward. “I have many citizens, Langdon. I can’t be tested on each one and I can’t be questioned by civil-servants right now. Don’t you have a new Thought Proof citizen to monitor?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“And it’s Mr. Cowan, Mary.” Quick, walk away it will look cool.

I turn and leave her cubicle. I put my headset on and can only hear what's happening. I don’t look at my mobile. I don’t know if I want to see this. All I hear is:

 

PJ: Are you two stealing gasoline?

 

AMY: PJ... You’re... alive?

 

JIM: No. He’s not.

 

AMY: What do you mean? Jim. What are you saying? Look he’s not dead.

 

JIM: He’s been Thought Proofed, Amy. Look at his eyes. There’s no life in there. I should shoot

him now. The real PJ would want that.

 

PJ: Shooting a citizen with a higher level than yourself is illegal and according to your status, which I gather from old memories as well as basic observation in your tattered clothing and bags full of pillaged dried goods, you’re Expendable. You don’t get chances.

 

AMY: PJ.

 

PJ: Lower your weapon Jim. You wouldn’t kill your own brother. Even more so, you wouldn’t kill a model citizen.

 

JIM: Model citizen? Model fucking-- PJ you told Sumner to shove it up his hairy ass today! You’re not a model citizen, your a warrior! You got a freaking lobotomy courtesy of the enemy! Pete... PJ come on.

 

AMY: How did this happen? I thought we were all Expendable. He’s not Toler-Worthy. None of us are.

 

But you are Amy. I don’t know how, but you are.

 

JIM: Look at him, Aim. He’s huge, he’s strong, smart... his brain’s a candy factory for the Presidency. They’re going to use him.

 

PJ: I’m going to serve The Sector, the party, and the Presidency. I will bring honor to this family’s name. After it was besmirched by that traitor rebel Sylvia Young.

 

AMY: You don’t mean that.

 

JIM: Don’t you dare talk about her that way.

 

PJ: She died fighting against the Presidency and this great Sector. She joined the uprising. She deserved what she got. We as a Sector deserve to be free from such rebels. Now, I’m headed for Seattle, where I’ll meet more people like me. Willing to do anything for The Sector.

 

JIM: You son of a bitch.

 

I can hear Amy crying. I’m walking slower. I almost don’t want to get to my seat to see this. Oh my God. I’m crying. Man up. Stop.

 

JIM: Let’s go.

 

AMY: We can’t just leave him here!

JIM: You want him to see the mill? Our house? Our family? No. Aim, I hate this but we’ve got to get going, this is life now. Come on.

 

AMY: But Jim--

 

Shit! There’s a hand on my shoulder, I’m halfway to my cubicle. I turn around. Oh shit. It’s Vincent Lubeck.

“Cowan. You’re away from your desk.”

I know that dipshit, “I’m aware, Sir.”

“Can I have a word.”

Fuck no. “Sure. I’ll follow you.” I’m so fucked.

 

Being in Dana Prickett’s office makes you want to die. Being in Dana Prickett’s office with Executive Vincent Lubeck makes you wonder how you’re going to die. For the longest time no one says anything. We’re all in here just looking at each other. Stop looking at me. Stop it.

The clock on the wall is ticking so loud I imagine myself shooting it with that tiny gun that Amy keeps under her pillow. I imagine myself standing up and pointing it real steady just like she did. I say bang, and in my head so does she. And we both pull the trigger.

Vincent cuts off my fantasy, “Oliver Cowan.”

That’s my name, don’t wear it out. Oh God. Don’t say that out loud. I’m disappointed in myself for even thinking it. “Yes, Sir? Is there a problem?” Of course there is you idiot. God, that didn’t sound suspicious at all. Idiot. Stupid.

“Did you authorize for Mary Langdon to flip Peter Young’s blind switch?”

Lie. Say a lie. Or fake a heart attack. I don’t get a lot of exercise, it’s believable. Oh God, it’s taken me too long to answer. I’m screwed. Lie. Lie, you coward, lie. “Yes.” Well you blew it, way to go asshole.

“May I ask why?” Asks Prickett. Great, now I’m staring at her. This is why I suck. When I get  scared I freeze. And I’m frightened and I’m frozen, staring at Prickett, which is making me even more scared. Shit. Speak, idiot! Speak!  
“Um. Peter Young Jr. displays many attributes we look for in a model citizen,” okay, not a bad start.

Vincent leans against Prickett’s desk, “You realize he’s Expendable. Therefore he’s not eligible for consideration for Thought Proofing. He’s also known to be a relative of a Sector rebel. And you think he’s applicable to be a model citizen?”

“I thought the determination and strength in which he fought for his cause would greatly and equally be turned to fervor just as strong in the direction we as a party strive for when creating Thought Proof citizens.” Hu. That sounded... inteligible.

Vincent peaks at a file in his hand, “And you knew this how?”

 

Shit.

 

He goes on, “Amy Young is your citizen, correct?” I nod. “And she is Peter Young Jr.’s sister?”

“Um... sometimes observing just my citizen isn’t enough of a challenge. I like to get to know the citizens they surround themselves with as well. It can actually prove quite revealing to the actual assigned citizen as well. One must always take into consideration all aspects of their citizen’s surroundings. Especially their surrounding citizens.” I’d like to thank The Academy.

Prickett smiles and points at me. Even though it’s just a finger gun, I still almost crap myself at the sight, “Ah! See! That there is what I love about this little boy genius! Our own personal Einstein! I’m proud of this one.”

Vincent smiles fakely at me, “Oh we all are. We can’t wait to see more ambition and initiative in you, Oliver.”

Prickett slaps her hand on the table and I jump, “Now get back to work! Ha ha!” Oh please don’t laugh, it’s really unsettling.

I stand up but Vincent is right behind me, “I’ll follow you out, Oliver.” Great...

 

Outside Prickett’s door he stands in front of me and looks down on me. He sighs and juts his massive and well defined jaw out, “Don’t ever, ever make a call without consulting me again. Understood?” I nod. “Good. Now go back to your citizen.” He’s storming off and I’m shaking.

I should get back to Amy...

 

Whoa, where are they? Shit, I’ve missed them. How did they get here? It’s beautiful. All my monitors are light up, which is a rare thing for a citizen not in a large city. But where they are is the exact opposite of the big city. The sky is blue and the ground is green and everything in between is lush, alive and swaying in a slow rolling breeze. The sun actually shines down on the dew encrusted blades of long fresh grass. I actually touch one of my monitors as I lower myself into my spinny chair and I’m nearly shocked I don’t feel the wetness. The life is bursting out of the monitors and it’s all so real. Damn, I should definitely get out more.

In the corner of all my screens is a giant rushing river and I can hear it loud and crisp in my headset. I close my eyes and enjoy it for a few moments. I don’t hear any voices, just the wind and the rush of a river I’ve never seen before.

And like the night before, with just Amy’s music and the darkness of her room in the night. I pretend I’m right there with her. Sitting by the bank of the river, watching it flow, feeling the wind, just before lowering my eyelids and not entirely drifting off but going somewhere else. My mind wanders but my body is idle. And I can tell Amy’s nearby and everything’s just better. I imagine her laying by me, her eyes closed, her mind so far far away, her consciousness is invisible and unreachable to me, but her body is right there. And we’re both not alone. And nature is alive. And the sky is actually blue.

I don’t see Amy on my screens right away when I open my eyes again. It takes a while but I finally zoom in on them; Her, Jim, Peter, and Dave. They’re all sitting in a circle and not saying a word, barely looking each other in the eye. Then it hits me that this whole time they’ve probably been mourning PJ.

As if answering my silent curiosity Jim says, “We’ll get him back.”

Amy in a soft voice says to him, “Jimmy...”

“We will.” He sounds so strong willed.

Peter shakes his head and stands up, “No. PJ’s considered dead. I’d rather think him to be dead than... the enemy.”

Dave stands up and faces Peter, his face close to his and his expression no longer mournful. “Pete. No. Don’t say that. Your boy is not the enemy. He’s a victim. And we’re going to get him back. Not as he was, but we will avenge him. And we’re going to get every single one of the bastards that did this to him and to us.”

“We owe him that much, dad,” Says Amy. Oh God, her voice is so sad.

Peter scowls and says in a gruff tone, “Dave, you heard him before he went all zombie. He said it’s getting to the Toler’s now. You and your big ideas don’t stand a chance any more. We’re extinct.”

“So what now then, hu? Tell me. What now?” Dave throws his arms out. Holy crap, I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side, “We sit around and wait to die? No I refuse to just survive.”

“Well we can’t live like this. Survival is all we have now.”

“No... no. I’m not going to that. I’m getting out of The Sector, I’m going to Canada. Or Switzerland. Anywhere that will have me.”

Peter laughs, but not in the way that he thinks somethings funny but in a way that makes the person he’s talking to feel like an idiot, “It’s impossible.”

“Well then I’ll die trying. And I’ll kill every single Sector son of a bitch I pass and leave nothing but their watches and lobotomy scars behind me. You wanna join me, that’s fine. You wanna survive, that’s cool. But do not doubt me for one single goddamned minute, Pete. ‘Cause then I’ll just have to go through even greater lengths to prove you wrong. I’m a prideful son of a bitch and I will see to it that you eat your shit talkin’ words with a side of humble fuckin’ pie, you got that?”

Peter says nothing. Amy and Jim’s eyes stop staring admirably at Dave and look startlingly at their father. Peter chuckles more genuinely now, “This is why you’re my best pal, Dave. Come on. Let’s go finish the turbine then head back to Diane.”

“Sounds good, chief.” And they walk out of that monitor and one above it shows them headed for the river.

I widen my angles on the other cameras. I still have no idea where they are exactly and how they got there but its beautiful. And right on the river is a giant water mill acting as a hydro turbine, Peter and Dave are heading towards it. No doubt this is how they manage to continue to power their neighborhood. They go to work on it making quick repairs and adjustments as well as clearing out the river of debris and bits and pieces of what used to be the outer areas of Tacoma, Washington.

Then I focus back on Amy and Jim again once I hear them start talking.

“Do you think we could make it in Seattle?” Amy asks.

 

“I couldn’t even make it in Seattle, Amy.” I tell her. But of course I can’t be heard.

 

Jim scoffs, “I don’t want to say no to you. So I’ll just say this: I think we can make it out of The Sector.”

“But it’s worse out there, the other countries are being bombed to death every second. At least our air raids don’t last long because we’ve got good defenses. I don’t know... I like to think that there’s better places out there but it’s probably the end of the world.”

“Sucks...” Jimmy sighs, “I mean we all thought it would be plague, or biblical apocalypse, natural disaster, or alien invasion. But it’s just us... Just humans.”

“With guns and bombs and planes and... it’s stupid,” Amy pouts as she lays back in the grass. “It’s stupid. I think that’s what makes me the most mad, it’s the fact that The Great War was is so stupid. It started over nothing. Over people being assholes!”

 

“Pretty much,” I say out loud to the screen.

 

“I hate to break it to you Aim, but that’s what all wars are like. War never changes.”

“But people do. Don’t they?” Amy asks, opening one eye in a squint against the sky, looking for her big brother to give her the answers.

“If people changed then so would the war. I don’t think we’re learning...” Amy sits up and looks around. “What? Am I dissapointing you? What are you looking for?”

Amy punches his shoulder, “I’m looking for Jed. He’s better at the whole cheering up thing than you are. You’re storm cloud, he’s silver lining. You’re spilled milk, he’s lemonade.”

“Lemonade?”

“Life gave him lemons and he’s making the best of them.”

“Shitty lemons.”  Jim smiles and tries to trip her as she walks away but she hops right over his leg and runs off toward the river, further down from her dad and Dave.

 

She calls Jed’s name and suddenly I see his head pop up. He’s right by the bank, pole in the water. And I can tell just by observing this action, that all Amy just spoke of Jed was completely justified. Fishing on it’s own is for the hopeful. But fishing during a storm in the midst of “the end of the world” is an amount of hope unheard of.

Amy sits next to him.

It’s so quiet. Someone say something.

 

Amy’s looking at him, finally. He smiles back at her.

“Where are they?” Ask Amy.

 

“Where’s what?” I ask the monitors.

 

I see Jed close his eyes and move his head around. He faces me with his eyes closed. Then he opens them. Oh my God, he’s looking right at me. He’s pointing at me, “There.” He says. Then I see him in another monitor, looking right at me, “There.” I see him turn his body around as much as his old bones will allow him to without him having to get up and lose his fishing spot. He’s facing me directly once more but in another monitor now, “Got ourselves another right there, it’s been replaced not too long ago. Got itself a good ticker in it. Making more noise.”

 

Hold on. Just to test. I see him in another angle he hasn’t pointed out yet. I use that camera to arbitrary zoom in and out.

 

Without hesitation, Jed points at it dead center then turns his body to follow where he’s pointing, “That one right there got itself a twitchy zoom right now. It’s all over the place. Givin’ out it’s position. Must be a fifteen year old just faffin’ round.”

 

Hey.

 

Then he looks at me from a new angle in a new monitor dead on as always, “There.” Another turn and another stare, “There.” Holy shit. He looks up at the sky and I try to find on my monitors where I can see him from an aerial angel. But I don’t see it. He points up, “There.” What’s he talking about? He’s no where on any of my monitors.

Amy’s suspicious too, “What? They’re putting cameras in the clouds now?”

“Nope. But way-a-ways up there, higher than high, there’s something a whole hell of a lot bigger and badder than a tiny twitchy security camera. And he ain’t needin’ no barcodes to find us neither.”

Amy laughs, “God? God is watching us? And the watchers too?”

“And the soldiers and the Executives and the whole world, not just The Sector. But I don’t know for sure if it’s God. But someone’s gonna come down from that sky some day. And he’s gon’ take us to some place better. And if he’s ridin’ in on an army plane from some other place or if he’s got a long beard and a robe and he’s surrounded by harps and folk with wings, that’s okay with me either way, darlin’. So long he’s pullin’ me out. And long as he’s takin’ y’all with me. But we know he’ll getcha. You’re a good egg.” He leans and and whispers to her, “Not so sure ‘bout that brother’a yours though.” She laughs and so does he. I laugh, I can tell they’re joking and I like being a part of it. It’s comforting.

After their laughter dies Amy says, “Well the only face I’ve seen in the sky is Sumner.”

“The prick.”

 

I actually kind of laugh louder now. Oh fuck, if anyone knew why I was laughing right now I’d be so murdered.

 

Jed goes on, “Sumner’s time will come. There’s gon’ be a new face in the sky. We’ll have ourselves a revolution. We’ll find a way out and rebuild. And we ain’t gon’ start with the skyscrapers and the technology and the cities again. No. When I say rebuild I mean we gon’ rebuild ourselves first. That’s what’s important. That’s what we forget after all them wars. We rush into building walls and roads first, don’t stop to take no time at all to fix the people we leave behind us. That’s why, Amy.”

“Why what?”

He leans in and smirks, “War never changes.”

She laughs and shoves him off, “You heard us?”

“I hear everything. Now let’s go get us a glass of lemonade, eh?” This makes Amy and I both start laughing at the same time. He stands up and cackles a giant laugh, “Yeeeee-hooo! Caught me a biggin’ now!” He pulls his pole out and the line zips out, it’s bare.

“There’s nothing there, old man.” Amy teases.

“Nope. That’s what they all say when they don’t see stuff, Amy girl. But there is. There’s hope. And boy it’s a biggin’!” He yells to Peter and Dave, “Fire up the grills boys! We got ourselves some big ole fish to fry!”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more to this story. I've finished it. But I'm debating on whether or not to post it all yet....

 

I really like watching Amy. I like her. I like her family. After they left the mill they went back to their house and unloaded all the stuff they got from their voyage. Diane hugged them all. Then they told her about PJ and she got really quiet again and just sat at the table, looking out the window. Amy sat by her the whole time and just said nothing. They held hands. I looked down at my keyboard and didn’t look up until I heard chatter again. I thought they deserved their moment. Although they never felt like they weren’t being watched, I liked giving them that privacy still. Then Diane cooked what she could and told them that she did in fact have to shoot two scavenger Expendables today and that his body was in the garage waiting to be taken to town tomorrow to find an Exec. Cop to sell it to for a bounty.

Peter kissed her and noticed the blood stains on her clothes and told her they should spend the money on getting them some new clothes. But she insisted on food.

Then they had dinner. They had normal dinner conversation. I joined in where I could. And although they couldn’t hear me and they didn’t know I was there and they probably hated me, I pretended I was right there at the table with them:

 

“So, Oliver,” Peter said to me from the head of the table, “Amy tells me you’re a People Watcher!”

“Yes sir,” I said with a nod, “I’m actually one of the top People Watchers in the entire Sector. I hold the record for the highest Thought Test score.” Amy smiled at me all proud.

Her mother, Diane beamed from across from me, “Wow. So you’re quite smart.” I blushed.

“Mom...” Amy whined a bit, “You’re embarrassing him.”

“You should never be embarrassed of your intelligence. I bet you make a lot of money don’t you Oliver?”

“Actually, Mrs. Young People Watchers don’t entirely get paid. We get an account linked to our bar codes and at all vendor establishments we scan it and it pays for our purchase. It sounds great I know, limitless spending, but in all honesty it’s only because I’m stationed in Tacoma and there’s not a lot to be spent on. But if I get promoted to Seattle there will be a limit to my spending based on my performance.”

Jim asked in great curiosity, as if hoping to get in on it all, “How long have you worked for The Sector? They nab you when you’re fifteen, don’t they?”

“That’s true. I’ve been there ever since.”

Dave yawned, “That’s all fine and dandy but don’t you feel bad?”

“Dave.” Amy blurted.

“What?” He questioned with a shrug, “It’s a legit question. You don’t mind, don’t cha, boy? Does watching everyone all the time and killing people make you feel bad? Hell, does it make you feel anything? Can you feel? Do you feel anything watching us suffer and die?”

Whoa... this fantasy went real sour... listening in on their conversation, it going the way it’s going... I knew this topic would come up. Even in my own fantasy.

“I don’t know, sir. The screens cut out before we see what flipping the switch does. I don’t feel anything because I don’t see anything.” But... could I? I see them nearly die all the time, would the final moments really make me feel any different?

“He didn’t feel anything for me,” said a new voice.

I turned my head. It was PJ. What he was doing in my fantasy, I can’t tell you. Ask my subconscious.

PJ was dressed in Presidential colors, the party logo pinned to his chest like Dana Prickett’s always is. He steps toward me and stands by my side, “Oliver didn’t feel any emotion when commanding that I be Thought Proofed. He didn’t think about how much pain I’d be in, or how much I’d lose. How much the new me would despise myself and everyone I ever loved. Oliver isn’t a human at all. He was bred by Life Makers to become the robot he is now. A people watching little robot. Living his life vicariously through the ones he spies on. He hasn’t been outside during the light of day in six years.”

“Oliver, is that true?” Asked Amy. Her eyes were wet with tears.

I shook my head, “No. No, that’s not true. I mean... the last bit was, all of that was true. I was pre-advanced to become the People Watcher I am. My dad was Thought Proof, my mom was Expendable and I never met her. I don’t know what happened to her. My dad loved the party too much to ever love me. I went to a special school in the city, I... I don’t remember anything else. But I know that... I know I felt something. I felt something so strong that I couldn’t watch PJ just die.”

“But you did see him die,” Amy said, “He’s not the same. PJ’s dead and the Presidency lives in him now.”

“You’re a monster.” Said Peter.

“Told you,” said Dave, “Told every bastard one of you.”

“You killed my baby,” Said Diane.

“You son of a bitch,” murmured Jim.

I look across the room at a new face I didn’t notice before, “I see you,” said Jed. “I see you all the time just as you see us. And I see no hope for you.”

 

I shot out of that fantasy when I realized dinner was over and they had stopped talking. They stopped talking about PJ and the Presidency and the watchers and cameras. I was shaking. I was thinking about so many things.

I saw Diane boil water and give it to Amy. She carried it up the stairs and walked into her bathroom. She filled the tub up low and poured the steaming hot water in. But then I looked back down at my keyboard. I couldn’t watch Amy like this, not someone I respected this way, not without her permission. Not someone that I knew if I saw them like that... I wouldn’t think of it as just part of the job.

 

Some thirty minutes later Amy was in her room playing music. It was something I didn’t recognize but I liked. Then she got into bed and was idle.

“Goodnight, Amy.” I told her.

 

The watchers who are assigned citizens with night jobs are coming in now. I’m shutting off my monitors and turning on my mobile. I clean up my area and tuck my headset into a drawer. I’m so exhausted. The excitement of Amy made it so I couldn’t sleep last night. I got up so early to see her on time today. But I can’t go home and go to bed just yet. I’ve got to run some errands.

 

I stop by the Tacoma mall. Who’s that?

 

“Hello, Oliver!” Someone from inside a store called The Gap is calling my name. I stop and peak in. It’s Mary Langdon. She’s coming out. “Stopping by to ask me out?”

Oh... was my flirting successful? I guess so. What do I do now? Oh shit. Don’t freeze. Don’t freeze. Don’t be creepy. “Um... I’m actually just trying my luck at some new clothes.”

“Oh, did I inspire you today?”

“Yeah a little bit,” It’s mostly because I want to impress my citizen and her family but that works too. Boy I’ve been lying a lot lately.

“Well you’ll have no luck here. We’ve been ransacked by Expendables inside and out. Tom Mathers, who works with us, he’s just down that way in a Build-a-Bear and even he’s been pillaged while he’s at work. They make clothes for the babies out of the toy clothes. They are getting desperate. I don’t see why they don’t just go to the city,” Jesus christ she talks a lot, “If all the people left here went to Seattle we’d all be transferred there and we’d be out of these makeshift places and into a real proper house or apartment you know? All the watchers down there have real places. We only don’t because if the Expendable families see new homes being constructed when all theirs are falling apart... oh boy there’d be another revolution. But hey, if we flip the switch on all of them we’d all be transferred to Seattle!” She sings the last word Seattle like it’s some big prize to be won.

“You really think that’s a good idea?”

“Well I don’t know. I’m just glad you gave me that order when you did. You didn’t waste a second telling me. My citizen is in Seattle now. I’m looking to get transfered.”

Poor PJ. “Well definitely do look more into that. The city would fit you well.” I should leave, I’m going to leave.

“Hey, where are you going?”

 

Damn it. Don’t turn around just keep going. No that’d be rude. Turn around asshole. “Well there’s no clothes here like you said. And my jacket’s kind of... fucked up so.”

She’s laughing. Why is she laughing?

“What’s so funny?”

She lowers her laughter a bit, “Oh, it’s just that, yeah your jacket is pretty horrendous but I thought you’d at least want new pants first.”

I look down, “What’s wrong with my jeans?”

She’s walking toward me now, “Well for starters they’re not jeans.”

“They’re not?”

“They’re cargo pants. And an eyesore on top of that. Uhg, I do so wish they sent more fashion magazines to Tacoma, everyone here is so out of the loop.” Well I’m pretty sure they’re all a bit concerned with living and not so much worried about if they’re in style or not. And I happen to think Amy has great style. It’s simple and easy and it suits her. But I let Mary go on, “Come on. I think I can pull out an old pair of jeans in my place. I think there’s some your size.”

Well this is going to be awful.

 

I wait outside her place while she goes in and looks. She invited me in but I insisted on waiting out front, I told her I was in a hurry.

Oh great she’s back. And she’s brought... what the hell are those? “What are those?” I ask.

“They’re jeans, dummy. And they should fit.”

“They look a bit small.”

“That’s the style. It’s a modern style. All the city boys wear tight pants.”

“Do all the city boys have poor circulation?” I ask taking them from her and holding them up to me. They are the right length with is hard to come by for me because I’m so tall. And I’ll admit I’m not the bulkiest of guys but I don’t think I’m this scrawny. I hand them back but she refuses.

“No, no. Come on. Try. You can’t say you don’t like something until you’ve tried it. Go on now.” I stare at her, “Okay fine. I won’t look!” She turns around.

This is weird. I’m taking my pants off behind her in the middle of the abandoned Tacoma mall. Holy crap, these things are tight. My testicles are not going to be happy about this... and what do you know, they’re not. Jesus christ this is going to take some getting used to. I wiggle around and take a few test steps. She’s turned around and... great now she’s laughing at me.

“Why are you walking like a velociraptor?”

“Because I’m in pain. Mentally and physically. I don’t like this. I don’t like fashion, fashion hurts.”

“Hey beauty is pain, Mr. Cowan.” She tells me. I don’t agree. Because Amy is the opposite of pain. “Plus if you’re going to get promoted and become an Executive you’ll need to fit in.”

“I’ll never make it in Seattle.”

She freezes up and squints her eyes like she can’t even fathom why I’d say that, “What makes you say that?”

The truth is I don’t know. Two days ago, all I would have ever wanted was to become an Executive in Seattle. But that changed when I started watching the Youngs. I sigh, “They move at a different pace than me. I’m a slow life guy.” I take a few more test/velociraptor steps, “And in these fucking things I’m going to be moving even slower.”

“Oh take them! Those old pants are horrendous. And your shirt and jacket are also awful. But the jeans make it all okay. Kind of a grungy hot type thing.”

I stop and stare at her, “Really?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

I really don’t actually. I woman’s opinion is what I really need right now. I don’t know why I’m so concerned with my appearance all of the sudden. It’s not like Amy sees me or ever will. But I like knowing that if she did she might like what she saw. Thinking about her reminds me that my errands aren’t over and I’ve got a limited amount of time before she wakes up.

“Thanks, Mary. I’ll take them.”

“Ten bucks,” oh, what? She’s laughing again, “I’m messing with you. You can have them if you put in a good word for me with Lubeck. Let him know I have a citizen in Seattle and I’d like to be transferred.”

“Sure. I’ve got to be going. See you at work.”

 

I’ve got more to do, lots more.

 

At the store I pray they have what I’m looking for. I don’t know what really constitutes as “snacks”. God they have a lot of stuff here. I really need to get out more. The only food I really know of these days is what they have in the vending machines and cafeteria at work. But here they’ve got candy, gum, nuts, cookies. Wow, Amy’s family would be so excited to see all this. Too bad they live in the outer areas. It’s not too safe for them in the inner areas of Tacoma. I don’t know what to get. Maybe I should just get all of it.

Now on to what I’m really looking for, popcorn kernels. I did a bit of research on my mobile on the walk to the store and the internet says popcorn was common in movie theaters. Then I looked up photos of the machines they use to make popcorn happen and I found one that looks familiar, I’m hoping it’s the one that I have in my house. And they’ve got some! Holy crap, I’m lucking out here. I’m guessing why they have so many in stock is because no one except me lives in an old run down movie theater. So no one else will be buying these so I may as well buy it all. And all this water yellow stuff claiming to be butter as well.

But now on to the most important item on my list of all. I remember Jim saying something about ice cream being kept in freezers. They have freezers in the back of this store, right?

What do you know there they are. And now, fingers crossed, I’ll get what I really need.

Holy shit, they have it. Strawberry ice cream. This is a miracle. I’ll take ten.

 

The walk home from the store was a difficult one, I’ve never bought more stuff in my life. But thanks to the watcher’s barcode, I’m not required to pay. The walk home was usual other than the heavy load; Billboards played Sumner’s message far and wide across the dark sky, Toler-Worthy’s glared, and smoky clouds as the aftermath of air raids filled the sky. The sun had already been set for hours when I left the offices. It was cold, and I was approached by not a whole lot, save the few Exec. Cops patrolling the area. They saw my mobile and waved and I fumbled with my bags and waved back.

When I finally got home I looked around and for the first time, took it all in. You’ll forgive me not really knowing much about where I live. Being a people watcher means I typically am only home for about six hours a day and thats time I spend sleeping not really settling in and looking around. I’ve been here six years and it still looks the same on the inside as it had when I was first given it at fifteen.

It’s the only building in a wide empty parking lot. There three cars in it, all empty, although I’m pretty positive there’s a skeleton in the front seat of one way on the other side. The Norton’s Picture House sign in front is a big spire the goes up into the cloud filled night sky. The sign has words on it but I’m not sure what they mean or meant as most of the letters have fallen off. And in the front booth, where according to the internet people used to buy tickets, there’s just an old faded “Out of business” sign.

I scan my barcode at the door and it clicks unlock. I step in and look around, I see the two staircases, one leading to where my room is and the other leading to what is apparently the projection room. I focus my attention though on the sight in front of me.

There’s just a bunch of lumps and shapes, things unseen draped in a giant cloth. I walk over and set down the bags. I’m nervous. I’ve never explored my home before and I’m curious to what I may find. I grip the dusty cloth and give it a pull. Underneath is a glass case filled with what I’m guessing are the movie theater snacks I’ve heard of. Looks like I didn’t need to go shopping after all. I sit down and press my face onto the glass and smile. There’s so many colors, so many shapes and funny names and interesting drawn characters on the packaging. It all looks so ancient and foreign. I grab the next cloth and pull it down to reveal two more glass cases, also full. I’m astonished.

Behind the counter is this oddly shaped lump, about the same height as the glass counters. I pull the cloth off. It’s a big blue and white box that reads “Antarctic”. I pull the sheet off the one beside it and it’s the same thing. I slide the lid up, there’s bottles of what looks like ancient sodas and beers. I’m worried they might be passed their expiration date. Do sodas have expiration dates? Maybe I’ll look that up later. I slide the lid up on the next one, but it’s empty and a little damp, thick with humid air.There’s coils inside too so it must run on some electricity. I get down on my hands and knees. There’s a plug! I plug it in and immediately hear a hum from the both of them. I walk away to let it warm up. The next cloth is much much taller and underneath is something I have never seen before. It’s a giant red machine with levers underneath. On top is a book. I reach up and give it a quick glance through the pages. It’s not to hard to assemble. I just need to find the syrups which written in pen beside the step says “bottom shelf”. I find the shelf in no time at all, I hook the syrups to the carbonated water, I plug the machine it and it lights up by the levers. I’m assuming that means push them-- Oh God. I’ll clean that up later. Note to self: Use cups when operating this machine.

The next machine is what I expected, the popcorn machine. I read the instructions for this too and it’s not at all difficult. But I decide against making the popcorn now. Best to save it for a special occasion. I don’t know what, but I’ll think of something. Maybe when it’s my birthday. I’ll have to look up my file at work to see when that is.

I unload the bags of stuff I got and intermix with with the snack already left behind. It looks interesting, seeing the old mixed with the new. I like it. I put the strawberry ice cream in the Antarctic boxes one I feel they’re cold. I grab a soda from the box and taste it-- Oh my God, holy shit. I’m going to be sick. I spit it out into the little puddle that was on the floor from my earlier beverage mishap. Oh, I have an idea... I dump the contents of the bottle into a trashcan next to the popcorn maker and refill it with the levers. This tastes much better.

Next I walk beyond the snacks, sipping out of the soda bottle, and enter a dark hallway. I push the doors open and look around and it’s just as PJ described it. There’s velvet seats, so plush and comfortable. I giant screen with velvet curtains on either side of it that match the seats. It’s pristinely kept, besides some gathered dust, it looks like it’s just opened.

I imagine it filled with young adults, little kids, old folks alike, all staring at that big silver screen hanging on the wall. Smiling at whatever movies looked like before The Sector and it’s propaganda films began. Then something catches my eye above the seats... a window.

I run up the stairs in the lobby and pass the closed door that leads to my room and enter the other one at the end of the short hall. I open the door, I have to push a little hard, something is in the way. Once inside, I see what it is; A body. It’s a bit skeletal now, actually a lot skeletal. It’s laying on it’s back. It’s got on clothes but it’s swimming in them now, even though they look small to begin with. I bend down and take a closer look. He’s got black slacks, worn a bit thin, and sporting a few moth eaten holes. He’s got a black bow-tie and a white dress shirt that looks a hell of a lot better than the pants do. It even looks like it might fit me. I take off the jacket to get to it. The jacket it red velvet like the seats and curtains. There’s a name tag and it reads: E.B. Norton (Owner).

So you’re the guy who ran this place, eh? What killed you?

As I’m unbuttoning the shirt I notice something, and I’m positive it’s what killed him. In the socket of his eye is a little metal rod pointing downward. Almost like a switch. I lift up the skull and hear some things falling down to the floor. I turn the skull over and see that he had to have cracked it when he fell back I look inside the skull, then back to the eye socket. I flip the switch upwards and look back inside. That’s when I see it; A thin needle like rod pokes in from the socket and extends about four inches inside the skull and enters where, if there were a brain, the frontal lobe would be. I stare at it longer and wonder if this is what I think it is.

For someone as smart as I apparently am, it takes me a while to grasp it. Either that or it takes me a while to admit it. But this must be the blind switch. This must have been what I did to PJ. I’m guessing that when Sector Officials come and tattoo the children at age two, they must also implant these. I mean it makes sense, how else would the switches operate? I sigh, I realize I’ve been staring at Norton’s skull for at least ten minutes.

What killed you? It must have been the kill switch, but why? I look up at the north west corner of the room and that’s when I notice what it is. This is dead space. Norton must have entered it not too long after they installed cameras in the theater in the late eighties but neglected to put them in here.

My bedroom is also dead space, all watcher’s bedrooms are. But the rest of the house should be well monitored. This room isn’t.

I take of Nortons shirt, then mine and my hoodie. I put the shirt on and it fits. I put on his velvet jacket too but I feel like the red and the white makes me look Thought Proof. Ha, a guy like me should want to. Someone who’s someday going to become an Executive, the kid with the record high Though Test scores, The Sector’s most talked about watcher, I should want to look the part. But I don’t. I take off Nortons jacket and put my hoodie back on. I grab his skeleton by the arm and drag it across the room. I open up a cabinet to put him in but it’s full of canisters. I take out one but it’s heavy. I lug it down and drop it on the ground with a thud.

The label says, “The Great War Needs You (Sector Approved). The next twelve canisters say the same. I shove them to a corner of the room beside a big table with a giant contraption on it. I check it out and see this long almost see through strip of tape winding in and out of it. Right above it is a sharp instrument about to cut the tape in half. When I flip a light switch and return back to the table I take the tape and hold it up. There’s pictures on it. Pictures of what I’ve seen a thousand times, It’s Sumner’s message but in picture form, each second suspended into a single frame. The parade they show on it is from what looks like ages ago. I put it back exactly as it was and pull down a handle. It cuts the tape in half. Then I remember PJ’s words. About film, and it being flammable. This might be film... but just to be sure...

In my room is a bathroom and a tiny kitchen I never use. I mean I use the bathroom obviously, but I meant the kitchen... I never have time for cooking or even eating at home. I unplugged the mini refrigerator when I was sixteen and haven’t plugged it back in since.

I go to the stove and turn on one of the burners. I move the grate away and see the blue flames dance a few inches high. I take one look at Sumner and him saying his message in each little box, each single frame of the whole picture, and then I test it. I let one end dip into the blue flame and the entire strip goes up. I drop it and watch it sizzle. I put my hand infront of my nose to stop smelling it. And in a matter of seconds, Sumner is gone.

It’s in this moment, I realize that I love film.

 

I run back to the projection booth and look in the cabinet again. There’s enough space on the bottom shelf for Norton’s skeleton so I clear the canisters from there. It’s easier because they’re all low but its harder because they’re all bound by tape. There must have been twenty canisters there and I rolled them all out with a loud thump onto the ground. I push them up against a back wall and lay Norton on the shelf. I close it.

Then I look back at the wall. These canisters are different from the others and I’m not sure why. Besides them all being tied up together I don’t really know what sets them apart. I should take a closer look.

I kneel down and look at the end of the last one, There’s a note:

“See adjacent cabinet for full list.”

Adjacent cabinet? I do a full 360 around my area and look. On the back wall is a taller, bigger cabinet and I walk towards it. Inside is more canisters, all tied up and numbered. On the inside door is another note. It reads:

E.B. Norton’s Films That Should Survive

“One man’s perspective is reliant on and relevant only to the most recent film he has seen. Well told stories skew the most stubborn and a good film can change the world by changing how we see it.”

 

Nosferatu, F.W. Murnau (1922)

The 39 Steps, Alfred Hitchcock (1935)

Singin’ In The Rain, Stanley Donen (1952)

12 Angry Men, Sidney Lumet (1957)

A Night To Remember, Roy Ward Baker (1958)

A Woman Is A Woman, Jean-Luc Godard (1961)

Babo 73, Robert Downey Sr. (1964)

Mary Poppins, Robert Stevenson (1964)

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, Billy Wilder (1970)

Play It Again, Sam, Woody Allen (1972)

Young Frankenstein, Mel Brooks (1974)

E.T. The Extraterrestrial, Steven Spielberg (1982)

The Goonies, Richard Donner (1985)

The Breakfast Club, John Hughes (1985)

Reservoir Dogs, Quentin Tarantino (1992)

 

After reading the list over and over I resort to inspecting the canisters. Each film on the list is stored in the canisters. Usually three to four canisters contain a reel of the film. I look over the list and look over the canisters again and again. It takes me a while, but... I realize now that E.B. Norton gave his life trying to store and protect these films so they will survive. And they have. A normal citizen would die upon entering this dead space projection room. But I’m the one who’s stumbled upon it and being a watcher, I can be in here as long as I please. I can’t help but feel these films are my responsibility as it’s safe to assume, these are the only copies left; The only one’s who haven’t gone to be turned into cannon fodder and bombs. The only films that stayed films and didn’t turn into weapons. I like the ratio, there’s two real films to every one propaganda film in the projection room.

I think I want to watch one. Maybe I’ll start with this Breakfast Club one, the title sounds interesting. Plus it was made in the year Amy was born. But... I don’t know. Something is telling me that I should wait and watch the 1985 ones with her. I don’t know why in hell I think this is a possibility. So I decide to pull out the most recent one, which is Reservoir Dogs. I take out the first reel and take it to the machine in front of the room where it’s sticking out of the window. There’s two and I’m not sure which one I should start with. Oh come on, I’m a genius I should be able to figure this out.

I take the old film off and toss it aside. It takes me all but two seconds to hook the new reel in and put the second reel onto the second projector. After that it’s just a matter of turning the right things and pressing the correct buttons and there you go.

For a while it’s silent. Then the film runs through and the noise startles me. It sends a chill. The kind that creeps in so slowly as you try to recall why it’s frightful to you in the first place. Trying to recall the memory only peaks your nerves more, so you stop. I suppose that’s why it’s called a suppressed memory; The painful retrieval is not worth bearing should you risk pulling out something far worse. So I stop and I get distracted as I watch the beam of light hit the silver screen in the room below. I watch the dust dance in the light beam. Then I watch a picture come to life before me. And I smile as I realize I’m watching the last real film ever made. And I prepare myself for the first few words.

I hear them, from a voice that’s not entirely high, but not entirely deep. It’s inviting but also cynical. The voice sounds as if it matches it’s origin. As if the words themselves were created by the mind who thought them. I hear him say, “Let me tell you what like a virgin’s about. It’s all about a girl who digs a guy with a big dick. The whole thing is a metaphor for big dicks.” And I’m hooked.

I run down the stairs to get a seat in the theater. And I sit there for three hours. Each time a reel ends I change it. I run up the stairs and start the next projector then run back down. And it’s like an entire new world. I get the feeling I’ve seen things like this before. I’ve obviously seen the news but it’s all Sector run and the anchors are Thought Proof so it’s all the same babble I hear at work. They used to have television shows but those got to hard to monitor and they haven’t aired one since I was seven.

But this film is different. It’s like seeing the world through a new eye. And after watching people my whole life, it’s like a greatest hits. I’ve heard some entertaining conversations and the way this film was it was like all those great conversations came to life from new areas of observation, a collective process of ideas, visual aesthetics and perspective.

I had the impression that since the movie was filled with actors it would be obvious that the movie was fake, you know? But the actors just seemed like people I’d watch, they spoke normally and about normal topics, not just topics that moved the plot forward and for someone like me, that’s something you notice. It wasn’t overly dramatic but it wasn’t poorly executed. It was entertaining.

I adjust camera angles all day to see people better, but angles in movies make you see things on two levels and it’s more than seeing people better it’s seeing a perspective. You wonder why you’re looking at someone the way you are. I adjust my camera angles to see better, a camera operator or director could just show everyone straight on from the most convenient angle and the viewer can still hear everything and get the gist. But in this film I watched, it showed angles that made you wonder, “Well why that way?” and in thinking about it, you learn more about the characters and the story.

Then there was music. Music that I knew Amy would like. And humor that I knew Amy would laugh at and action I knew she would smirk and sit at the edge of the seat for.

Then it was over and I was leaving the theater to go to the projection room to put on the next one. And I looked out the window and saw the sun was out.

 

I check the clock in my room. Shit. It’s 7:30 AM. I’m usually in the office behind my monitors by now. Amy’s still idle but I know she won't be for long. And she’s not the kind of person I just want to watch on my tiny mobile screen. So much for sleep. I run out the door and run all the way to the office. And for some reason, I’m smiling.

 

Once inside the office I actually smile at people, I greet them, I try to make conversation.

 

“Hey Spencer.” I say to him as I pass the break room. I walk in. He’s getting a bag of pretzels from the machine. He looks surprised I’m speaking to him, “Citizen idle?”

He stands up straight, “No, sir. I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll get right back to my desk. Won’t happen again.”

I hold out a hand and slowly lower it, signaling for him to relax but he doesn’t get the hint. “Cool down. I’m just talking.” He’s still silent. Maybe conversation isn’t my forte. “What’s your citizen doing?”

He looks me straight in the eye. He’s about thirty and has this bleached blonde hair look like he’s trying real damn hard to be seen as Seattle worthy. He wears a dress T-shirt and a tie with old black jeans that look almost as bad as my old pants did.

He clears his throat, “He’s driving into town with a bounty. He’s got a long drive so it won't be too active for a while. I should be listening in though for conversation. I’m so stupid. Sir, it will not happen again!”

I take a step closer to him and he gulps. Jesus, am I really that awful? Maybe I smell like dead body. I can see how that would be disconcerting. Perhaps I can scavenger the mall again for some cologne. Amy might like that too. Wait, she can’t see me let alone smell me.

I cock my head at Spencer, “Are you okay? What’s going on? What’s with all this sir stuff?”

“You’re being promoted soon. We’ve all known, what with all your Though Test scores and you being in the Executive meeting. Mary Langdon says you're promoting all the best too and once you’re the new Executive of the Tacoma Sector Building, you’ll transfer us all to the Seattle office. We’re all working hard to impress you, sir. If I’m being entirely honest.”

Whoa. I’ve never heard any of this. It’s only been a day. Mary Langdon does like to talk.

“I’m going to transfer us all to Seattle?” I ask.

“Well... aren’t you?”

“I don’t even know if an Executive position is in my future. Lubeck is a great guy, he’ll be in power here for a while. Plus I like just being a watcher.”

He kind of laughs, “I don’t know. I guess I just kind of assumed, what with the entire new outfit: The new pants and the fancy shirt... you definitely look the part. Maybe not your torn jacket but...”

I look at my dirty hoodie sleeves and touch my back where there’s still a giant hole from my recent kerfuffle. I nod at Spencer, “Yeah well... I was just due anyways. Aren’t we all though? Tacoma’s losing it pretty fast.”

“Don’t I know. My citizen, he and his family are hanging by a thread. They’re turning in a bounty that the wife killed and they don’t realize that the bounty has been lowered for Expendable families. They’re going to get barely enough money for food.”

I immediately think of Amy’s family, “That’s awful.”

“Yeah for them. I mean, I’ve been waiting for my citizen to kick it. I’ve only had him for a few months. Just in that time he’s narrowly escaped death countless times. Just yesterday he was almost a bounty for a Toler-Worthy family. But his brother killed them all. Then went and got himself Thought Proofed.” Wait... wait... “Mary Langdon’s citizen actually. She tells me he’s got a job now working as a civil-servant for the party. She thinks there’s a Seattle transfer in it for her.” Spencer. Spencer Williams. This is Jim’s watcher.

I play into my new role and stand up tall like Vincent Lubeck, “Your citizen is Jim Young, correct?”

His eyes widen, “Yeah. You sure you don’t think your Executive material?”

I ignore the impressed look on his face, “Let me tell you a secret about Jim Young. Um, the entire Young family actually. They’re all part of a project to Thought Proof an entire Expendable family to prove that anyone can be a model citizen.”

“Really, sir?” Asks Spencer with an amount of shock that insults me, “I’ve been watching his family none of them seem really Worthy.”

I chuckle, “Williams, you’re not looking hard enough,” oh wait, don’t have him watch them harder, “I... um, what I’m trying to say is... you can sit back and relax. Go easy on Jim Young. He’s being watched by Executives and you’re really just here for official purposes. Just so he has an official watcher...” Shit, say more professional sounding stuff, you dunce. He’s not buying it, “Jim is under our care. You can just hang back and wait for my instruction on actions to take for Jim. Just... pretend you’re watching a movie. No reports, no switches, just leave that to the Executives.”

Spencer nods and looks around the empty and unappealing break room, “So... does that mean I can eat my pretzels in here?”

“I’ll allow it.” I say. He sits down at a table and before I leave I give him one last look, “Don’t speak of this project to any other watchers. As of now, it’s strictly confidential.”

“Yes, sir.” As I turn to leave I hear him call after me, but I don’t face him, “May The Sector Rise.”

I swallow back a bit of unexpected contempt, “Yes. May it...” Leave. Walk away. Go.

 

I head out of the break room and head to my cubicle. I peak at Gordon’s screen and see his baby citizen roll around on the ground and play with toys. I don’t miss those days.

 

When I turn on my monitors I almost have a heart attack. Amy’s in a truck bed driving down battered streets watching planes in the distance some Sector and some foreign. And air raid and new battle about to take place.

I look at my mobile, it’s fixed on the image feed of her bedroom. Her bed’s empty, everything’s there but Amy. I look back at my monitor and see her jiggling back and forth in the rusted truck. How is this possible? I’ll need to fix this later but somehow I’ve been hijacked. I can’t talk to Vincent or Prickett about this I’ll be murdered. I turn off my mobile for now and try not to think about it.

I take a deep breath and watch as new monitors light up and old ones blackout and Amy’s there and gone and there and gone again as she passes new cameras at new angles as she enters all new areas.

I can see her hanging on to a rope. At first I think it’s keeping her steady. Then I notice the two body shaped lumps of sheets tied up in front of her and realize it’s those that she’s keeping steady.

At one point I can see Jim in the passenger seat and I feel a moment of peace and pride knowing I’ve got him out of the spotlight and in some kind of safety for a little while.

I calculate that if they’re going to the city it will take another thirty minutes at least. And as much as I’d love to be spending time with Amy, I need to take this time to protect the rest of her family. Starting with her dad who’s watcher had to be bored right now just watching him drive.

 

Dan Flemings is a bit of a ways down from me, which I don’t like. I’d prefer to have all of Amy’s family’s watchers near me or just not exist but you can’t have everything. I speed walk to his cubicle and give him the same speech I give Spencer. And I’m getting more into my new role of authority. The conversation goes more or less like this:

 

ME: Dan Fleming?

 

DAN: Oliver Cowan? To what do I owe this pleasure?

 

ME: Your citizen. They’re of considerable interest to the party.

 

DAN: My citizen? He’s the father of a rebellion leader and who I’ve heard talk a lot of you-know-what on Sumner.

 

ME: Yes, I have heard. We’ve all heard. The Young family has multiple watchers.

 

DAN: Really? You included?

 

ME: Me and multiple Executives. They’re a part of the new initiative that I currently cannot fully disclose with civil-servants such as yourself. However I can tell you that they’re under our observation and for legal purposes you will remain their official watcher however all reports will be the responsibility of the Executive watchers. We will even flip the switch if necessary. All goes well, we will have a former Expendable family turned model citizens.

 

DAN: Sounds exciting. So what do I do then?

 

ME: Sit back and enjoy the show. Get to know them. They’re quite an interesting bunch.

 

I leave without another word. I said my lines, I played the part and I bailed. I think my performance was believable. And for Amy’s sake let’s hope Fleming bought it.

 

I round the corner back to my desk when I see Vincent Lubeck heading towards me. Should I get to my desk. I’m s up and my mobile is off, he’ll notice and I’ll get murdered for sure. Shit. Go to your desk, now! No, no. Don’t do that, you’ve made eye contact, it would be rude to leave now and not to mention suspicious. Say something, he’s getting closer. Say something now, you coward. Do it!  
“Mr. Lubeck. How is it?” Nailed it.

He half smiles, but his eyes scowl. If they could shoot flames, I’d have been ash five seconds ago. “It’s well, Cowan. I’ve just come back from the Executive meeting. Where have you come from?”

Uhh... great you’re hesitating. He’s figured you out, you’re screwed, you’re fucked, you’re murdered. Open your mouth and say words, dumbass. “Uh. I hate to micromanage... but I watch Amy Young... as you are aware. And Dan Fleming watches her father, Peter. In my observation of Amy I noticed her father had written something. Dan and I were sharing camera at the time and I didn’t register a screenshot. So I took the liberty and am planning to file the report myself. I was just going to tell Fleming he should get more focused.”

He huffs and puffs his giant chest out and lets all the air out of his nose like a bull about to charge. He swears under his breath then looks at me, “Dan Fleming? Well, I’m glad you noticed. And I’d like you to send the report to me rather than a Spinner. I’d like to look at this myself.” Fuck. “You’ve noticed a lot about the Young family. Much more than the average watcher would.”

“I’m no average watcher,” don’t make jokes, Cowan, you’re bad at it.

“Clearly. You’ve taken a considerable amount of interest in the Youngs. Why is that? Should we be concerned about them? If they’re planning a new uprising to avenge their fallen family member we’ll have to take action.” I gulp, I’m sure he heard. “Should you get any more suspicion let me know and I’ll turn an eye on them myself. Okay?”

“Yes, sir. However I can assure you, they’re under my watch constantly.”

He glances down, “Twenty-four-seven?” I nod. “Okay then. I trust you know what you’re doing. Don’t forget the equipment change tonight.” He starts backing away. But before he turns all the way around to leave he says to me on a lower voice, “Your mobile’s off.”

I glance down. Shit. He knows!

 

I run into my cubicle and pull my headset on and wait for my oncoming heart attack.

On one hand, Jim and Peter are both out of the spotlight. On the other hand, the Tacoma Executive and scariest man himself is suspicious of them and probably me. Plus I have to forge a Written Report to said suspicious Executive and he might decide to just kill Peter!

I have to diffuse the situation.

 

I forge my Written Report. As of now, Vincent Lubeck believes that Peter Young wrote on a napkin with red ink, “Sumner is a fat pig fucker.” You’re welcome Peter. I think...

 

I don’t know if I’ve made their lives safer or worse. I hope for the latter but, it’s probably not. Thinking of this makes me sick. The only thing I can do to calm myself down is imagine I’m with Amy.

 

She’s standing up now in the bed of the truck, looking around the inner area of Tacoma. I can almost recognize where she’s at. The truck slows to a rolling stop and Jim and Peter step out. Amy hops down, I imagine right next to me.

 

“Alright,” says Peter, “Jim, you grab one and I’ll take the other.” Jim heads to the truck bed and pulls the hatch down. He drags one covered body down then throws it over his shoulder with a grunt. His dad does the same.

In my mind I ask, “How can I help?”

Peter smiles at me and he kicks the hatch of the trunk closed and heads for the sidewalk leading into the city more, “Watch over Amy.”

I nod, “Always, sir.” In my mind, Amy smiles at me and takes my hand and together we follow behind her dad and Jim as they take the back alleys through the town as not to be seen by Toler-Worthy’s looking for a bounty. They’re a target normally, but with two bounties already with them for grabs, they’re a treasure chest.

 

Jim asks Amy, “Aim, why’d you agree to come along? You could have stayed with mom, she’s planning on helping Jed today.”

Amy gives him a sour face, “You know mom doesn’t want me helping her in what she does. No matter how much I beg to stay with her. She’s worried it’s not for me. Her and I couldn’t be more...”

“Different?” Jim offers.

Peter laughs, “No. Your mom fears Amy’s her little clone. We thought it was Sylvia but Amy’s just as nuts. She’d love mom’s projects.” Amy laughs, “But no. Mom’d rather have you out grocery shopping like me than getting involved in women's work.”

Amy laughs harder, “Woman’s work? Wow dad. How gender neutral.”

Jim laughs, “Aim, Mamabear’s going to keep you her precious cub forever no matter what. This is her way of ensuring it. Sending you out here on missions and shopping trips with the dudes.”

Peter peaks around a corner at the end of the alley, “And right now we’ve got to do the banking. See? Men’s work. Mamabear wants her cub doing men’s work, not growing up to do the women stuff.”

“I’m good at woman stuff,” she claims.

Jim gives her a stare, “Aim, you’re trigger happy. That’s why mom sends you with us.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

“I should shoot you,” she winks. I laugh in my mind from where I’m standing right beside her. But I laugh out loud behind my desk too.

 

The conversation gets me thinking. Amy’s mom, Diane, has had the same watcher since she was born, so she must not get into trouble. So I figure there’s no real need to talk to her watcher. And perhaps that’s what that whole conversation was about. Amy’s mom wants to keep her safe and keep her with her at home and out of trouble, but she knows Amy is quick thinking and good with a gun so therefore better suited to protect her dad and brother. I can’t tell if Amy’s okay with that or not.

 

They’re crossing the road now heading straight for an Exec. Cop. He sees their bodies and waves them over to his large vehicle parked a few feet away.

 

In my mind the Exec. Cop waves at me and smiles as he greets me by name.

Peter smiles at me, “He knows you?”

I shrug. Amy says for me, “All Exec. Cops know most of the watchers. But they all know Oliver. He’s great isn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t say great, Amy.” I tell her modestly.

Jim chuckles, “Shit. If every Exec. Cop in town knows you, I’d say I’d feel pretty safe around you.”

“That’s all I want,” I tell Jim, “I just want you guys safe.”

We approach the Exec. Cop and he asks us to show him the bounty. Jim and Peter lay them down in the open trunk of the Exec. Cop’s car. He scans their barcodes to prove they’re Expendable and calculates the total and hands them their cash.

Peter counts it, “This is half of last weeks total. Tell me they haven’t dropped that much.”

“Actually it’s dropped more,” Say the Exec. Cop, “That’s seventy percent lower. We adjust the price according to the population. Less Expendables, less worrying, there for the less worth a dead one is to us. But that’s not the same to say you’re worth more alive than dead. We’d definitely prefer you dead.”

“Oh you heartless bastard,” Amy yells.

Jim puts a hand on her shoulder, “Amy, don’t.”

She whips it away, “No. No, this jerk needs to know what he just said. You cannot say that to someone.”

In my mind I just freeze up as I always do when I’m scared. I’m even a coward in my fantasy.

In my mind the Exec. Cop says to Peter, “The watcher you’re with should have informed you. Oliver Cowan, you did nothing to let this family know they’d not get equal pay this trip. You could have spared them the anger they’re now giving me. Anger that could result in rash thinking on their part. And said thinking could result in their deaths.”

I snap out of my frozen state at the sound of that, “No. No. Not them. You cannot kill them.”

The Exec. Cop steps closer to Amy. She locks eyes with him. I can see Jim is just as mad at him as Amy is. Peter looks scared for life, either Amy’s or the Exec. Cop’s I cannot tell.

“I said,” The Exec. Cop says to Amy, “Watch the rude way in which you speak. That anger could get you in trouble.”

“I should tell you the same. You haven’t got a care in the world for the innocent lives you’re paying for and no hesitation to end another right now. You’re a monster.” She puts her hand behind her back and I zoom in to see what she’s doing. That’s when I realize she’s going for her gun. And I recall Jim’s words: Trigger Happy.

Jim jumps in between Amy and the Exec. Cop and puts his hands on Amy’s shoulders and guides her backwards. He looks over his shoulder and tells the Exec. Cop, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologize to him!”

“Amy! Go over in the alley and wait. Don’t come out until we’re done here. You need to calm down.”

Amy glares at him before obeying his word. She gives one last look to the Exec. Cop before that monitor goes out and a new one lights up as she enters the alley.

In my fantasy, standing on the sidewalk before the alley entrance is Thought Proof civil-servant PJ. He looks right at me and tells me, “She deserved to be taken out. You don’t confront an Exec. Cop like that. They should be grateful for any compensation at all.”

Out loud I say, “Fuck off, Thought Proof PJ.” Oh shit. I look around and stand up. I take peaks at the surrounding cubicles to see if anyone heared me just then. But it’s the height of the day, lots of chatter, all headsets on. I’m in the clear. I sit back down and watch Amy.

 

I’d give anything to be there. She’s not too far way. If I could, I would run to her right now. I know where she is. I can go and be with her and tell her she’s right and she should have killed him. I’d tell her that I understand her and for some reason, I’d do anything to help her family. I’d tell her I was sorry I was a watcher but I’m not sorry I’m her’s. All I want right now is to help her in anyway I can.

She leans against the wall and closes her eyes. Her head is hanging in between her shoulders and she’s taking deep calming breaths. Her hair is long and flopped over. I can see her shoulders going up and down. I see...

Oh shit.

 

Someone’s jumped from the roof of the building onto the big dumpster below. Amy, why aren’t you looking up? Amy, look up! She’s just staring at her... she’s walking closer. My heart is racing, my stomach is dropping. And as the person walking toward Amy pulls out a knife, I’m panicking. Amy, no.

 

I don’t know what to do. She can’t see me. “Amy.” I say out loud. I touch the screen, “Amy, please.” She can’t feel me. She can’t hear me. “Amy!” I say louder, my voice shaking. I don’t know what to do. I immediately go through the watcher’s handbook in my mind, but you’re not supposed to get involved in your citizen’s lives this way. There’s nothing on how to save your citizen.

The woman is slowly and silently creeping toward Amy, not even I with my headset can hear her.

 

My headset.

I look at it: The headphones on my ears and the microphone by my mouth. This hasn’t been done in years. Before my time, watchers had to count down after they hit the kill or blind switch and the nearest camera would use the built in PA system to relay the watcher’s voice as they counted down.

No one does this ancient technique now. But the system hasn’t been replaced, just forgotten and outdated.

I go through the handbook again. All it’s information is stored in my mind. But of course I cannot retrieve it now. PA system. PA system! What did it say about the fucking PA system? The button was simple, it was right by the... don’t freeze up, you coward!

I look at Amy and I unfreeze instantly. I go with my gut. My fingers quickly jerk up to my ear and I press a small button on the side of my headset and say out loud to Amy, “Look out!”

And I hear it echo in my ears, and I see Amy’s head shoot up and her attacker stumble back a bit. And in the blink of an eye, Amy’s off the wall and has her gun out of her thigh holster and pointed at the woman.

The woman blinks and quickly says, “I wouldn’t do that. I’m Toler-Worthy.”

 

Bull shit.

 

One look at her old boots that are clearly too small for her and her stained and ripped jeans and worn out shirt and I know she’s Expendable.

In the same split second amount of time that Amy got her gun out I got my fingers on the button again and say, “No she’s not.”

And in another split second Amy shoots her dead on in the center of the forehead. And the girl falls back. Amy tucks her gun back into it’s place then runs to her body and checks to see if she’s dead. Then she checks her pockets, pulls out a wad of cash and puts it in her pocket. Then she grabs her by her tangled mess of hair and drags her away. But not before stopping just before the camera and looking right at me.

I freeze now.

Amy’s staring at me. But it’s different from the first time. Now she knows it’s me behind this. She’s opening her mouth. She’s going to say something.

I hear Jim’s voice in the distance, “Amy!”

She looks out of the alley and then back to me. I don’t know what to do. She leaves that angle and the monitor flicks off. A new one comes on and Jim and Peter are still with the Exec Cop.

Amy drops the body at the Exec. Cop’s feet. “She’s Expendable. Now we should have about as mucha s last week, right?”

The Exec. Cop lifts her body up and hauls her into the trunk and scans her barcode. “This is Maya Swinton. She sends us at least five heads a day. She’s the reason Expendables are almost extinct. She must have been one hell of a fight.”

Peter takes one look at the shot right dead center in her head and looks sadly at Amy, who then averts her gaze from him. He tells the cop, “Believe me, I bet it wasn’t.”

The Exec. Cop gives Amy’s dad the bounty and they head off.

 

I run Maya Swinton in my side screens and pull up the name of her watcher, Vance Ryder. I get up from my screen and walk away but I leave my headset on. As I leave and head to Vance’s desk there’s nothing but the near silent sound of foot steps in my ears. Not a word from the Young family. In my mind, as I walk to Vance. I walk with the Youngs and in my fantasy, we’re all talking.

 

“I wouldn’t be alive without Oliver,” Amy says with a sigh, “We wouldn’t have Maya’s bounty money or the price of her own head. Oliver, I don’t know what I’d do without you watching me.”

“It’s my job Amy,” I tell her. I take her hand, “And it’s my privilege.”

“I’m proud of you two,” says Peter.

“You make a great team, you two,” says Jim.

“Too bad he just committed a crime and he’s going to lose his job. He’ll die and you will be soon after. Oliver Cowan is an Expendable coward,” says PJ. His Thought Proof voice rings vociferously through my pounding head and I emerge from my fantasy behind Vance.

He’s a person you can honestly call morbidly obese. He’s in his fifties easily, and easily on his way out. I can smell the heart failure on him. His cholesterol is so high it’s coming out of his ears.

I take off my headset, “Vance?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even turn around. I don’t know if he’s even capable. On his screen is a two year old. Maya’s already replaced.

“Got your new citizen?”

“Yeah.”

“Goin’ well?”

“Uh-Hu.”

“Nothing odd about your previous citizen’s death?”

“Nothin’ to report,” Jesus this conversation alone has got him out of breath. He’s a total gazer. I give an unnecessary nod and walk away.

Then I hear it over my shoulder, “Micromanaging again?”

I turn on my heal and I’m face to face with Lubeck. “Vincent!” I say startled.

“We’re on first name basis now?” He asks with a squint of his eye, doubting me.

“No, Mr. Lubeck. Sorry, you just startled me is all.”

“Why?” He asks with an unreadable blank expression, “You’re feeling jumpy? Anything the matter?”

“No... I was just...”

“Checking on more watchers with citizens that aren’t yours. Did Vance Ryder’s citizens cross paths with Amy Young? Did anyone commit any crimes of concern to you or me or The Presidency.”

I look at my shoes, “No sir.”

“Then you should be at your desk.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be there shortly.” Turn. Leave. Walk away. Kiss the Young family goodbye, you’ve just killed them.

“Um, Cowan? You seem fidgety. I’d hate to see my top watcher that I’m so proud to have in my command feeling off. I want you on your A-game. How about you take the day off. I’ll watch Amy Young for you.”

“No. Mr. Lubeck, I cannot imagine abandoning my duties. I’ll be fine. I’ll stick with what I know. No more overreaching. I apologize for my apprehensive behavior.” Apprehensive? Not the right word. At all!

He looks at me concerned, “Alright, if you insist. Remember, give me a call if you think Amy Young is a Presidency concern, okay?”

I nod.

“Your mobile’s still off.” He points at it and turns away. As soon as he can’t see me I take off running.

 

After the longest and scariest walk back to my desk I sit down and return my focus on Amy and her family. They’re no longer in the inner areas of Tacoma but taking the crumbling roads back home, overrun with overgrown weeds and blockaded here and there with the occasional broken down, abandoned car. Amy’s no longer in the truck bed but sitting in a makeshift middle seat between her dad and brother.

The car ride is silent for a long while. I can’t tell if the distressed look on Amy’s face is from just killing someone or having a camera talk to her.

She speaks up, startling her dad and brother, “Don’t tell mom.”

Peter chuckles, “I’m not. You are.”

“You want me to?” Amy asks, stunned and now leaning forward to look her dad dead on.

Jim answers, “He doesn’t want you to but he’s got the feeling you probably will.” Amy looks at him. Her expression is asking him something in silent sibling talk and I can’t read it. But Jim replies effortlessly, “He just knows you Amy. We all do.”

She leans back and looks out the windshield. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the wad of cash she took from her bounty’s pocket and lays it on the dash.

Jim jumps on it first and flips through it, “What the hell? Is this from that chick? She was loaded.” He starts laughing out of joy, this gets him a quick look of disapproval from Peter. “Oh come on dad. I know right now PJ would say something to Amy about a responsibility we have to preserve all the Expendables we can. But I’m not going to ignore the fact that we needed this. Imagine all the stuff we’ll get at the market. All the stuff we need.” He puts this weird emphasis on the word need as if it’s code. Being a watcher, I should recognize that and report it but... I’m pretty sure I’m passed all that now.

 

When they got home they told Diane all went well and normal. Amy kept her tales to herself and then sat down at the table to join her mother in silent sitting and staring out the window. This seemed like some kind of bonding thing. I don’t know much about that type of thing, bonding with parents. But this seemed to be what Amy and her mother did to get on eachothers level; Not saying anything and just being near.

 

Eventually, Amy gets up and retires to the couch. It’s old and shabby and looks like it may possibly carry a few STD’s but thats not entirely uncommon for this area. She pulls out a book and begins to read. I watcher her the whole time.

I adjust my camera angle and read along with her. Surprisingly, we read at the same speed. Each time I get to the end of the page it’s only two or so seconds until she turns it. And it’s like we’re there on the couch together reading side by side or sometimes out loud to each other.

Hours later I hear Jed’s voice, “Look at my girl! Still enjoying the simpler pleasures of life. A good read!”

I zoom out and adjust my angle to catch Jed enter from the front of the house and cross over into the family room where Amy is.

He looks at me, “Hmm. Seems like you got good taste and your watcher thinks so too. He was zoomed in on that there book of yours.”

Amy turns around and faces the camera, looking at me.

 

“Yeah, I was. I like it.” I say out loud to the screen. But she doesn’t hear me.

 

She just marks her spot and says, “Oh does he really?” In a rather suspicious tone. She gets up from the couch and hugs him.

I can hear him whisper in her ear as she pulls out of the hug, “Your dad told me about the bounty.” And when she’s face to face with him again he winks at her coyly. She smiles ever so slightly.

Dave follows in with something over his shoulder, I can’t tell what. “Well, I hate doin’ this. Animals in these parts are a rarity but then again so is food.” He drops a deer on the ground and I roll back in my wheely chair in shock.

Diane comes from the kitchen and stares at it, “Get that dead thing off my floor.”

“You ain’t afraid of dead things, Diane.” Dave says with a chortle.

“I said take it off the floor,” she repeats with a sternness.

“It’s for dinner,” Jed informs her, taking off his hat and wiping his dirty forehead.

“Really?” She asks skeptically, “You’re going to skin, debone, sanitize and prepare an entire deer tonight?” She even smirks a bit, “All by yourself? Just you two? Before sundown? Wow, I can’t wait, that sounds nice. I’ll take the night off.”

Jed and Dave exchange quick glances, “We’ll take it out back and keep it safe ‘till mornin’. Come on, Dave.” Says Jed before the two lift the deer back up together and carry it away.

 

Then Amy and I read for a little while longer. Then Jed and Dave came in from God knows where and they sat down for a dinner of whatever Diane could manage. And in my mind, I joined them.

 

“So,” Peter started, “You and Amy seem to be getting serious. I understand you spoke for real to her today. Not just in one of your little fantasies.” I looked down at my lap.

Jim laughed, “Finally grew a pair, eh?”

Amy gave him a scorn, “Oh my God, Jim. You’re the worst. Mom, tell him to stop being a jackass.”

Diane said in all seriousness, “I’ve been telling him that for years, what makes you think he’s going to listen now just because you’ve brought a watcher to dinner?”

“Because he can report us all.” Said Dave. He threw his hands up in a surrender, “I’m sorry. I know y’all like him and all that. But he hasn’t done jack for me, and as far as I’m concerned, he ain’t really done much for y’all either. If anything, he’s made stuff worse for us. Especially Amy. I worry about you, girl.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Amy said harshly through gritted teeth. “I can protect myself.”

Jed shook his head, “Hate to break it to you. But you can’t. Not from the inevitable.”

“Which is?” I asked. And Jed just pointed a finger at me.

 

When dinner’s over and I stop fantasising about interjecting myself into their dinner conversation I see Amy head to her room. No water, so no bath and no averting my eyes. Once she’s in her room she shuts and locks the door and then puts her music on. It’s one from a green record rather than her computer or CD player. It’s got a person in what looks like a wedding gown on it and I recognize it as one of the records she played the last two nights I’ve had with her. She puts it on and I see her pace back and forth and back and forth in her room.

What is she doing? More importantly, what is she going to do? I’m panicking. Stop pacing Amy, you’re freaking me out!

Oh God she’s stopped. And now I’m even more panicky. Never mind, Amy, start pacing again. Pacing is good. Her back is to me I have no idea what her intentions are because I see no facial features. All I hear is the green record.

Oh no.

Oh no.

She’s turned around.

And she’s looking right at me. Or the camera rather. But she knows it’s me behind the camera now, or at least she know’s it’s my voice. So she is looking at me.

Right. At. Me.

I think I’m going to faint.

 

“Don’t be afraid of death...” She says.

 

Out loud, to Amy on my screens, in my tiny little cubicle, I reply to her instantly, “Be afraid of life unlived... That’s from the book. You liked that part too?” I smile. Then I realize I’m not actually with her and she can’t hear me and I forgot to push the button. God damn it. Well I’m not going to say it again.

 

Amy’s just standing there, still staring at me, “Come on, I know you were reading. And I think that was you in the alley. Can you talk or was that the voice of God?” She asks. Oh God I’m definitely going to faint now.

 

My shaking fingers reach up for the button. I press it, “I’m no God.”

A smile curls on her face and it sends squiggly lines and static to my stomach. She takes a step back, “Really? You’re all seeing and you have the power of life or death at your fingertips,” she points out.

I smile, finger still on the button and say, “Well when you put it like that...” I start to laugh and she does too. And we’re laughing together, and we know each other. I’m not alone anymore.  

“What are you?” She asks. “Like are you a real person?”

“Of course I’m a real person.”

“I’m just asking because you sound so...”

Oh God, she hates me. I knew this would happen, “So what?”

“You sound like you’ve never spoken to anyone before in your life.”

I laugh and she kind of smiles and squints her eyes at the sound of it. Like she’s completely confused by my reaction. I admit, “I’m just nervous is all.”

“Why? Can you get in trouble for this?” She says as her eyes grow wide like she’s actually concerned for my own safety. Like she’s worried I’ll lose my job spying on her.

“Definitely. Yes.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because I’m stupid.” This makes her laugh really loud now. It takes me a while to join her because for a few moments I’m just admiring her. “I’m actually not though. And I’m not just saying that like, ‘Ooh look how smart I am’. I’m just saying that because... because I’m smart, they gave me you. That’s not to say you’re like my property. Not at all. More like... my responsibility. I guess...” Fuck. That came out like shit.

She smiles, “Is that like a compliment?”

I freeze. After a few seconds I snap out of it and reply, “A shitty one.” Then she laughs again.

When she stops she says to me, “I’m Amy. But you know that. Amy Marie Young. I like it. My initials spell A-M-Y. Which spells my first name also. Isn’t that considerate of my parents?”

“Um, yeah I guess. I've never thought of that before.”

“Do you think about me often?” She asks in a different voice? A flirtatious voice? No, you idiot, don’t get your stupid hopes up.

I’m actually glad that right now she can’t see the stupid smile on my face as I admit, “Yes.”

“What’s your name?” I freeze again, for longer this time, “Do People Watchers have names? Are you there?”

“Yeah they do... and I am. Um, it’s stupid.”

“No name is stupid.”

I unpress the button and gulp, I don’t want her to hear how nervous I am right now. And the thing is, it’s not the fear of losing my job that’s making me nervous.

I press the button again and say clearly, “Oliver Cowan.”

She smiles, “Middle name too. I told you mine and you know everything about me. It seems only fair I get some information on you too.”

I think against it for a little as I remember that all the previous watchers Amy’s had have died. Same with her entire family. But I don’t see the harm in telling her my name, they have no way of tracking me without internet access with no longer reaches the outer limits where she lives.

So I tell her, “Oliver Aaron Cowan.”

“Oh!” She says excitedly, “So my initials spell Amy. Yours spells oak.”

“Cowan is with a C.”

“Oh, nevermind then. You’re boring.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“What? Am I not entertaining enough for you?”

“No, just the opposite. Seeing how much you live, all the skills you and your family have, all the ways you’ve come to survive, the interesting things surrounding where you live... it makes me realize how sheltered I am. I feel like a total boring weirdo watching you to be honest.”

She sits on her bed and lays back, staring no longer at me but at the ceiling. I watch her from the camera in her mirror now so I can see her from a profile view. “I appreciate your honesty.”

We sit quietly for a few moments, Amy and I. And we listen to the music. Then she asks me, “So what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want to do?”

I shrug, “I’m fine with just this. This is nice.”

She sits up, “Well let’s change the music a little. What do you want to hear?”

I look around her room at all her posters and finally point at one with two black and white faces on it. “How about that one?”

She looks back at the camera in the corner and gives me the most complex stare. Then she does one quick laugh, “I can’t see what you’re pointing at.”

I laugh, “Oh shit, I forgot.” She cracks up and I feel invincible. “Um, the one with the smiling people in black and white?”

She gets up from her bed and goes to her stack of CD’s and pulls it out. “You’re in luck, I’ve got that one. This is one of the last non-propaganda non-Sector-Approved album recorded. You know, before everyone else sort of gave up.”

“Something tells me you haven’t.” Wait... I didn’t mean to say that? Where did that come from?

She turns and looks at me once the CD is in the player, “No one in my family has. You’ll see. Or probably not, but you’ll know.”

I don’t ask questions once she pushes play and lays back on her bed. After a few songs I can tell she’s beginning to fall asleep. Her room is almost completely dark and she’s almost invisible to me and almost idle. I tell her, “Goodnight, Amy.”

I hear her laugh softly as she turns over, “Yeah, okay.”

 

CITIZEN IDLE

 


End file.
